Of Angaraks and Cold Porridge
by Duct Tape Fairy-Chan
Summary: Sparhawk encounters assasins who may be after Sephrenia. They investigate and soon find themselves involved in something much larger then first thought, and that takes them farther from home they have ever been.PG for violence: swordfights and stuff
1. Old friends new problems

**Of Angaraks and Cold Porridge**

Or

You Should Have Been Here Before the Edit

Chapter 1

The rain had stopped, but the fields on either side of the road were still very sloppy and wet. Sparhawk ground his teeth together against the sound of bits and spurs and the many suits of armor around him, including his own, creaking with the dampness. He cringed away from the smell of his steel clothing, the saddle beneath him, and the big, shaggy roan horse he rode upon. If there was one thing Sparhawk hated the most, it was the smell of wet horse. Faran didn't seem to be too pleased with the way his rider smelled, either though. Sparhawk sighed and thought again of his queen waiting at home, his daughter and the warm dry bed that waited with them. _I'm always going home in the rain, aren't I? _he thought, glaring up at the soggy sky.

He had thought his life would be easy now. Five years ago, he had watched the most important thing in the world, the famous Bhelliom, disappear into the blackness that was the great beast Klæl, had watched their epic contest, and had conquered darkness for the safety of the known world. Why then, he wondered, in God's name was he still marauding around in the middle of the Eosian continent trying to protect supposedly helpless Styrics from the attacks of his brother Elenes? Styrics that would run from him as soon as anyone? He looked to where Sephrenia rode with her husband not too far ahead of him. He could not see her as the same race as the scared-as-sheep people he had just freed from cruelty.

Normally Vanion and Sephrenia would not be with them, for they had lived for quite some time in the Styric city of Sarsos on the far distant Daresian continent, and Sparhawk had assumed that would be their permanent home, but for some reason, they had recently moved back to their old home of central Elenia. Sparhawk was glad of the decision. They had been long separated, and Sparhawk had extended an invitation to the palace to his two former teachers. They had immediately accepted his invitation, and joined his party of knights. Sparhawk looked at them fondly. He knew Ehlana would have no objections and that she would be quite cross if he hadn't. They had met up with them on the road from Lenda to Cimmura, both on their way home; Sparhawk to the palace, and Vanion and Sephrenia to their farm near a large pocket of Styric villages.

"It's just like old times," Kalten said, riding up beside Sparhawk.

"Except Vanion seems a lot happier now, for some reason," Sparhawk replied.

"I wonder why," Khalad, said.

A young knight rode past them and slowed his horse beside Sephrenia's palfrey. He spoke quietly to her for a moment and she smiled and fondly touched his cheek. "I'm fine, Berit. I don't need anything."

Kalten chuckled. "He's never going to grow out of that, is he?"

"Let's hope not. He's a good man, and an excellent knight." Sparhawk sighed.

"I know," Kalten said, "Oh, to be young again."

That evening they rode into a little valley surrounded by rolling hills almost covered with goats. Sparhawk turned to Sephrenia. "Are these all yours?" he asked her in amazement.

"No, Sparhawk. I don't really own them. I only feed them. You Elenes feel the need to pen your animals. Just keep them healthy and happy and they won't want to leave."

In the center of that little valley was a farmhouse and buildings not unlike Kurik's farm. Sparhawk still felt a pang for his former squire, long since gone to the house of the dead. It seemed that at that moment Aslade would step out the front door with a loaf of fresh bread in her hands. Sparhawk's warrior heart almost stopped when she did. "What?" he began as they neared the house.

Vanion coughed. "Uh, I know we haven't gotten around to writing much in a while, Sparhawk, and I apologize for that, but we've been a little busy the last two or so years. We meant to tell you but..." A face poked around Aslade's apron. At first Sparhawk thought it was Flute, but then he realized that this child was about three years too young for it to be the child Goddess.

"Papa!" the little girl cried and ran on stout little legs out to where they were dismounting. Vanion caught her and swung her up. The child looked at Sparhawk out of deep brown eyes exactly like her father's.

"Sparhawk, this is Astara." Vanion kissed her soundly on the top of her head.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Kalten demanded as he watched the girl scamper to her mother.

"Well," Sephrenia said, joining them, "we didn't want all the excitement and fuss you would have made over her. I am something of a celebrity among you Elenes after all. And Vanion isn't much less so. We wanted our daughter to come from a simple background." Sparhawk heard her voice almost say "Styric" instead of "simple".

"Ehlana's going to be livid, you know," Sparhawk warned them, smiling in spite of his own chagrin as he watched the child. Her eyes were slightly tilted with that Styric cast, but her hair was as glowingly auburn as Vanion's.

"I hadn't thought of that," Vanion admitted. "No offense Sparhawk, but the world seems to revolve around your wife."

"Sparhawk's sure does," Kalten laughed.

"She _is_ the queen, after all, Vanion."

"We all know that, Sparhawk. She would never let us forget."

Sephrenia walked past them leading the way into the house. "She doesn't need to know everything all the time. Too much information clouds the mind and makes one worry too much."

"You still haven't been able to teach her to read Elenic, have you?" Sparhawk asked Vanion.

"You know, I've kind of lost the interest of reading Elene books myself lately," Vanion said with a wink.

Sparhawk arranged an encampment for the twenty knights he had with him, then went in to the house. The interior actually was more spacious than the simple outside had shown, and had that touch that was particularly Styric, particularly Sephrenia, he realized. The walls were stucco with rich dark beams, and everywhere he could see Vanion's attention to detail. He sat at he table in the homey kitchen where Berit, Khalad, and Kalten already sat with mugs. He nodded gratefully as Aslade handed him one.

"So what brings you around here?" he asked her.

"Babysitting. The farm can tend itself for a few days, and besides, Elys and Talen are there."

That reminded Sparhawk of something. He turned to his squire. "Did you know about all this?"

Khalad coughed nervously, and actually managed to look sheepish. "I might have."

"For how long?"

"Since he and his brothers helped Vanion build this house," Aslade said, bringing a plate of rich brown bread to the table.

"Nevermind, Sparhawk," Sephrenia told him firmly.

They talked for quite a while about anything and everything, about happy things like the good harvest expected for the year, and about sadder news, such as the declining health of the beloved Archprelate Dolmant. Soon Astara fell asleep against her father's chest, and she was carried to bed by Aslade, who also took her leave. After quietly kissing her husband, Sephrenia followed them.

The men sat staring thoughtfully into their cups, feeling more the joy of being together in this setting than any real need to talk. The dying fireplace cracked, and Sparhawk looked up. He almost saw the figures of his old friends, Ulath and Bevier, the moon-faced Tynian, even Kurik, his face lined in the firelight. Then Sparhawk blinked and they all were gone.

That morning they saw Aslade off to her farm. Talen was visiting there from Cimmura. He was busy unloading hay by the barn when they rode up, and he stopped and ran to greet them. The young man had grown considerably from the wiry little thief he had been five years before. A few years of farm work had made his shoulders solid and his back strong. He also was very tall. His blondish hair had darkened with age and sun and he now very much resembled his brothers, and Sparhawk noted, his father. Sparhawk did not envy his opponents on the practice field at all.

Aslade invited them in for refreshments, so Sparhawk sent the body of knights on their way. There was fresh bread and jam, and a very tasty sweet pie that Elys had taken from the oven just as they had arrived. They laughed and talked about the weather, and Elys made a fuss over Astara. Aslade thought that they should stay the night, since evening was approaching, and they all agreed.

That night Sparhawk found he could not sleep comfortably. Softly he rolled himself out of the loft, and although it was almost warm he pulled his cloak about his shoulders. The night air was clear and the moon shone, seeming to banish the clouds. Sparhawk walked with a single destination in mind. He did not walk slowly, nor did he meander as one who is merely strolling will, but strode through the dewy grass. He was going to visit an old friend.

The rain had sifted dirt into the crevices and the words in the small stone, but as Sparhawk looked down at Kurik's grave he felt a sense of strange satisfaction, as if the final resting site of his former squire held some sort of approval for him. He stood there looking down for quite some time, then shivering against the chilly wind that began to pick up across the fields, he bent and laid one hand on the stone and started back towards the farmhouse's shadowy form.

The next day they were loaded with many directives to give greetings to people in the city, as well as with Talen, who Aslade told them could return to Cimmura. They made very good time, only having to stop and camp once on the way there. The reached the city of Cimmura on the morning of the second day out from the farm. The eight of them headed to the palace. Sparhawk watched Sephrenia as they neared the palace, but she in no way seemed worried about Ehlana's reaction to their child. It was almost as if she and Vanion were anticipating a joyful acceptance. A familiar face greeted them at the steps of the palace. The smiling face of the Earl of Lenda peered out under his almost completely white hair at them as he stood leaning on his cane. Grooms came to take their horses; the one taking Faran's reigns automatically swatted him on the nose as the big roan bared his teeth.

"Vanion," the old man wheezed, "they let you back into the city?"

"Well, well," Vanion said, walking up to his old friend. "I can't believe you're still alive."

"I have come to the conclusion that God is going to inflict life on me for as long as possible because He doesn't want me. He is going to postpone the pleasure of my company for as long as He can since He is afraid of my excellent wit."

Vanion laughed and allowed Lenda to lean on his arm as they entered. Sephrenia walked somewhat behind Sparhawk with Astara in her arms.

Stragen met them in the hallway. He wore a sour look and sported a long, angry red line down one side of his face. Sparhawk smirked at him. "Don't even say it, Sparhawk," he warned.

"What?" Sparhawk asked innocently.

"You know the little orange one? With the white feet?"

Sparhawk tried not to chuckle. Stragen turned away muttering. "When you've finished with that, perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell me where Ehlana is?"

"She's in her chamber, Sparhawk," the Baroness Melidere said, coming down the hallway. She held a black and white kitten in her arms.

"Have you seen-?" Kalten began.

"Alean is in there too, and she's fine, Sir Kalten." She turned to Sparhawk. "Honestly, she's still three months away and already he's a frantic father." She teased. Then she set down the kitten and it scampered away in front of Sparhawk and his friends as they walked to the apartments. Vanion and Sephrenia silently moved to the back behind Sparhawk and Kalten's large forms, and Lenda stubbornly refused to let Sparhawk help him. The day was warm and the door was open to allow the breeze from the open window to sweep the entire chamber. Ehlana sat on a divan in a grey-blue gown calmly keeping her stitching away from a playful puss. On the floor, Mrr sat in the eleven year old Princess Danae's lap watching the antics of her kitten with some amusement. Alean, ever dutiful, although it was unnecessary, rose from her chair and curtsied slightly awkwardly.

Lenda started to speak, but Ehlana moved before he could say a word. "Sparhawk," she cried, standing and setting her needlework on her seat. She ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. Age, although she was barely thirty, was making her even more beautiful. She had lost quite a bit of the impishness around her eyes in the last few years, and her face was careworn, but none of her girlishness had worn out of her nature. Sparhawk smiled. She was either going to love this surprise, or be infuriated. Or both.

"I have a surprise for you. Well two really."

"Oh good, I love surprises."

Sparhawk and Kalten stepped out of the way. Ehlana squealed and ran up to embrace Sephrenia, then halted right before she reached her. "Who's this?" she asked Sparhawk, pointing at the girl in Sephrenia's arms.

"Surprise number two," Sparhawk said carefully.

Vanion looked slightly abashed, but Sephrenia surged on. "Ehlana, this our daughter, Astara." Ehlana looked from Vanion to Sephrenia and back a couple of times, then turned her eyes on the child. Astara reached out to touch her pale blonde locks with one tiny hand. That clinched it. Ehlana cooed and swept the little girl into her arms. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"We did," Vanion said. "Aslade. She was right, she _is_ an excellent midwife."

"We didn't want everyone crowding around her and treating her like royalty all the time," Sephrenia said. "If I had told you, then I would have spoiled the rural upbringing we want her to have." Again Sparhawk heard "Styric". He was slightly amused by his former mentor's almost shameful avoidance of her own race where Vanion or her family were concerned, and also somewhat surprised by it. Astara squirmed to be put down then and Ehlana obliged. The little girl ran over to where Danae was stroking Mrr. The similarities between the two girls were striking.

"Kitty." Astara said matter-of-factly, pointing at the fuzzy lump on Danae's crossed legs.

"Yes." Danae agreed solemnly. Astara squealed and jumped on top of the princess and the cat, forming a princess- cat- floor sandwich. Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia with a slightly harried expression and she smiled and winked.


	2. A bear on the foot is worth two in the s...

Chapter 2

Ehlana was sufficiently cross with Vanion and Sephrenia for keeping their daughter a secret, but was so overjoyed that she quickly lost interest in being cross, and things returned to a relative normal. One evening a few weeks after their return, Sparhawk and Ehlana were working quietly in their sitting room, going over some political and economical documents. Sparhawk was muddling his way through a forestry proposal that sounded like it had been written by someone stupider than the paper it was written on. "Ehlana I don't think that this-" He looked up to find she had left the room. That was odd. He hadn't heard her leave. He shrugged and went on reading. When he had finished and she still had not returned, he decided to go searching for her. She didn't normally just leave like this, without telling him where she was going. He opened the door. Suddenly a large silver flash appeared on his right, moving fast. He ducked and kicked out with his right foot. A large curved blade crashed to the floor next to Sparhawk's head catching the point of his shoulder. Sparhawk grunted and scowled at the attacker's oddly enough steel-masked face. Quickly bringing his knee up he caught whoever it was in the stomach. The attacker's breath whooshed out of his lungs, and he fell on top of Sparhawk. The big knight rolled, pinning the man beneath him, at the same time a foot knocked the blade away. Sparhawk felt another weight next to him, sliding onto the attacker's flailing legs. "What was that all about?" Kalten demanded.

"Let's find out shall we?" Sparhawk said dangerously slowly. "Neighbor," he said, panting slightly, "I don't like being stabbed, and I don't think you do very much either." He reached over and grasped the hilt of the sword and held it above the man's head. "Remove his mask, Kalten."

The man's face was not at all familiar. It looked strangely foreign. Dark, angular eyes rode above heavy scarred cheekbones. Those eyes were wild and filled with slight confusion. "Why did you attack me?" Sparhawk demanded, pushing the sword against the man's neck. He gurgled something. His breathing was labored and sweat had broken out on his forehead. Sparhawk released him a little and repeated his question. The man said something in a harsh guttural language, then shuddered and seemed to loose consciousness. Sparhawk and Kalten sat up.

Alean had evidently been with Kalten. She ran up to them then, her eyes wide. "Are you alright, my Lords?"

"We're fine, dear," Kalten told her, patting her cheek. "Go get Vanion."

"And Sephrenia," Sparhawk added. She nodded and hurried away. "Kalten can you keep a hold of this assassin if he should wake?"

"I can handle him. Why?"

"I don't know where Ehlana is."

"Go. I'll sit on him."  
Sparhawk literally ran down the halls of the palace almost shouting his queen's name. He had drawn his sword. He was now very glad that he had won that argument so long ago. He rounded a corner and almost ran right into Ehlana as she was running for him. Vanion, Sephrenia, and Alean were running after her. She flew into his arms. "Thank God you're safe," she whispered into his hair.

"I was about to say the same thing about you," he said, breathless with relief.

"Are you all right?" she asked, seeing his shoulder.

Sparhawk snorted. "He barely touched me. Let's go find out what this was all about."

With his arm firmly about her shoulders and his sword still drawn he led them all back to where Kalten had pulled the tie off a hallway curtain and tied the foreign brigand up with it. The blonde Pandion was inspecting the man's curved sword when they reached him.

"I don't recognize the blade at all. Maybe it's Daresian."

"The man doesn't look like a Tamul though," Sparhawk mused. "The sword looks kind of like what the Cynesgans carried, but they were all wiped out."

Sephrenia bent down and examined the man where he lay slumped against the wall. "You didn't kill him. I'm impressed. He seems to be breathing pretty heavily and erratically, though. Could that fight have winded him that much?" she mused.

"If it did, he's not much of an assassin."

"Maybe it's like that trip we took to the mountains to visit Sir Ulath last year," Sparhawk heard Alean whisper to Kalten. "You know, where you got so out of breath all the time?"

Sparhawk turned. "You may be on to something," he said. She blushed and looked down.

"Probably not. It just reminded me is all."

"What's this?" asked Sephrenia.

"Could shortness of breath have anything to do with being in the mountains, Little Mother?" Sparhawk asked her.

"Of course. The high altitudes strongly affect the respiratory systems of those not used to them."

"But we're not in the mountains," Kalten objected.

"No, we're not," she replied, "but this man is obviously from a place with a much lower altitude."

"That's probably why he passed out," Sparhawk said.

"Most likely." Sephrenia pursed her lips. "A little rest should revive him and then we can get some answers."

"Good," Sparhawk made a fist. "I'd like some." He turned to his wife. "Where did you go?"

She seemed to not want to look at him. "I wanted to ask Sephrenia something before I forgot about it. You looked so immersed in your document I didn't want to disturb you. I probably should have waited until we were done."

"I'm glad you didn't. You might have gone out the door first."

She looked startled. "You mean this might have been directed at me?"

"The assassin didn't seem to think I was the right person. He was certainly confused about something."

Finally awakened, their captive made an odd noise and lurched forward, his bound hands keeping him off-balance. Kalten grabbed him by one arm, but the man slipped free. He lunged, not toward Ehlana, but toward Sephrenia. Startled, she stepped back, and Vanion stepped forward. Kalten grabbed his cloak and gripped it tight. Then the man spoke, that same guttural language he had used before. First he stared at the little Styric woman, then at her hair. Both looked mightily confused. Suddenly the prisoner jerked free of Kalten's grasp and threw himself at Sparhawk. Sparhawk stepped in front Ehlana and reached to catch the man who was falling quickly at him. Unfortunately he still held his sword. The assassin's face took on a fulfilled expression as he slid down the length of Sparhawk's blade. He smiled at them all with confident smugness even as he died. Alean turned away and began to weep into Kalten's shoulder, and Sparhawk swore.

Stragen came bolting down the corridor with five or six guards. "Oh," he said when he reached them and saw the assassin dead. Kalten handed the distraught Alean to Ehlana and she took her into a side chamber. Stragen sent the guards with them. "All is not lost," he told the knights who were looking at the assassin's body with disappointment. "We can still go through his clothes. Perhaps he has something someone may recognize."

They hauled the dead man into an antechamber and began to search him. He wore hooded black silk robes over clothing suited to a much dryer, rougher climate. In one pocket they found some strange coins of a deep red color, almost that of blood, and a piece of paper with unidentifiable writing on it. "Sephrenia," Sparhawk said as he removed the man's left sandal, "there's a strange marking on this man's foot." The foot was very dirty. Stragen fetched some water, and Sparhawk began to wipe some of the filth away.

Stragen tilted his head to one side. "You know, it looks almost like a bear claw."


	3. All that glitters is not blood

Chapter 3

Platime's cellar was still as filthy as when Sparhawk had first seen it. There had been a little trouble getting himself, Khalad, and Kalten in because the man at the door apparently was new, but Khalad had convinced him that breathing was better than hindering them. Platime himself sat on his chair in the center of the room, sound asleep. A wine cup had fallen from his grasp and what looked like Arcian Red, or a cheap imitation thereof, had spilled over his shoes. Khalad let go of the front of the door guard's tunic and walked across the floor, avoiding the piles of clothing and jewelry and the thieves that were sorting them. Sparhawk and Kalten followed.

"Not very good business practices, Platime," Sparhawk said loudly. The fat man woke, startled. "Sleeping on the job."

Platime squinted at him. He had aged quite a bit in the last few years, and his black beard and hair were shot with silver. It made him look incongruously distinguished. The fat thief squinted at them. Sparhawk suspected his eyesight was beginning to fail.

"Prince Sparhawk!" the fat man roared. "Good to see you. How's that little girl of a wife doing?"

"Fine. We have some business to discuss with you, and also something of a favor to ask."

"Payment?" Platime's eyes became shrewd. He always thought of payment first.

"More in the way of a gift, Platime. Something to inspire the favor." Sparhawk reached into his tunic and pulled out a medium sized jar filled with deep purple jam.

Platime narrowed his eyes. "What is it?" he asked.

"Like I said, a gift. From a wonderful woman, who makes very good black currant jam." Talen had told him that Platime would sell his soul for black currant jam, and Aslade had given him a jar the last time they'd visited. Sparhawk would miss the jam, but this was more important. It was a little childish, but he hoped Platime would take the bait.

"Are you forgetting the vow I made to Queen Ehlana all those years ago when Martel's Zemochs were attacking? I'm still under that vow." Sparhawk was surprised Platime had remembered. Platime's eyes brightened. "But since you're offering..." He took the jam from Sparhawk's hands. "What was this favor you wanted?" he asked as he popped the top off the jar.

"I want your men to be on the lookout for something, anything, remotely like this," he held up a copy of the note the man had carried, "or this," he held up a sketch Talen had made of the bear claw pattern from the assassin's foot, "or this," he held up the red gold.

Platime absently put down the jam. He took the gold from Sparhawk and turned it over in his hand. "Mellik!" he shouted. A gangly, red-haired thief ran up. "Show me that gold you got two days ago from that foreign fellow you knifed."

The gangly man pulled a small handful of red coins out of his pocket.

"Did you by any chance search the entire body?" Sparhawk asked Mellik.

The thief nodded. "People stash valuables in the oddest places."

"Did you remove his shoes?"

"Yes," Mellik said.

Sparhawk retrieved the paper from Platime and showed the man the paw markings. "Did he have this branded on his-?"

"His left foot," Mellik agreed. "I thought it was a very odd place to have something like that. Figured he was part of some religious group so I left him right then. T'aint right to get mixed up with those people. All sorts of bad things happen to a man when he gets into that."

Sparhawk pulled out a sketch of the man Talen had drawn for him.

"That could have been the foreigner's brother," Mellik confirmed.

"Might we have the gold you stole?" Khalad asked. "So we have enough to do a thorough investigation. These men have caused some trouble elsewhere."

Mellik looked at Platime. "I have no reason to keep it. I don't think it's worth much in this country."

"Go ahead," Platime agreed.

"Thanks, Platime," Sparhawk said as he took the gold. He handed the paw picture back to the fat thief. "Have your men, and women, look at these and keep their eyes open."

Platime sighed. "I wish Talen were still here. He could make me excellent copies."

Sparhawk produced a number of copied sketches of the brand and the man. Platime chuckled. "I should have known he'd be around here somewhere. These are definitely his. Where does he hang his cloak, nowadays? I don't see him much."

"He's still in knight school, but recently went to live with his mother on a farm for a while," Khalad informed him.

Platime burst out laughing. "Well maybe he can give me a few tips on how to steal cattle," he said. "Good luck, Sir Sparhawk, and Sir Kalten. And my young friend here."

"Good luck to your people, as well, old friend. You'll let us know as soon as you find something, won't you?"

"Of course, we will," Mellik assured them, picking up the sheets of paper.

"I think Platime's starting to slip. He didn't look like he moved much out of that chair," Kalten observed once they had blended back in with normal street traffic.

"He's a very big man, and he's getting old," Khalad said.

"I'm glad I have Alean to keep me busy," Kalten said, eyeing his own stomach.

"Watch married life, my friend," Sparhawk warned him. "The plates are larger."

"Where are you planning on going now?" Kalten asked his friend.

"I'm going to tell the knights on Rose Street to keep an eye out for things, too. I have some more sketches and I'll give them some of the gold. They're at least as good a source of information as the thieves."

"Good plan," Kalten agreed. "The may be able to come across a live one of these strange branded foreigners."

"My thoughts exactly. Being dead is a trend that's just a little too popular with these people. We need answers, not more bodies."

"You can stop pouting Ehlana. It doesn't work on me anymore." Sparhawk looked pointedly at his wife. "You're a little too old to be doing it anyway. Danae listened to me when I told her that."

"Danae has to because you're her father. We're your _queen_. You cannot order us around," Ehlana argued.

"You don't realize how important this is. I'm your champion and protector, and if that means you can't leave the palace, and that there should be someone armed outside the door of every room you enter, that's the way it is. I don't want anything to happen to you. You're my wife. I'd die if anything happened to you."

She sniffed. "Fine, Sparhawk. I realize the importance of this, but I want _you_ to realize that the assassin was trying to kill Sephrenia."

"We don't know that for sure," he told her. "Besides, Vanion is placing the same restrictions on her and Astara."

"Did you two come up with this together, then?" she asked him archly.

"Yes as a matter of fact we did. We're both concerned about both of you, dear, and we want to do anything possible to make sure you're safe. It's my job, not to mention my duty as your beloved."

Danae entered just then, followed by Stragen. The blonde Thalesian was giving the Princess fencing lessons, much to the distaste of her mother. Danae wore a grey padded vest and knee-length pants over a shirt and hose and carried her practice sword at her side. Sparhawk looked fondly at her. She was growing up to be very pretty. Her dark blue eyes were as deep as her mother's and her nose, Sparhawk noticed, was very much like his had been before it had been broken. It looked much better on her, he decided. Her mouth was still the little pink bow it had always been, and her face had that slight Styric cast that Sparhawk thanked every god he could think of every day that his wife had not yet noticed.

"How was your lesson Danae," Ehlana inquired somewhat stiffly.

"It was great, mother. I killed Stragen three times."

"You look remarkably intact for a thrice dead man, Milord."

Stragen smiled. "Tell your mother how many times I killed you."

"Eight."

"Well," Ehlana said briskly. "That's an improvement. Yesterday it was ten." She stood. "Change, Danae. It's improper for a lady to wear pants." She walked toward the door to her chamber. Sparhawk followed. He knew Elhana's distaste for the lessons, and knew exactly where her emotions came from.

"Why must she learn those violent things?" she demanded.

"It's important to her, dear. It gives her something to do to help her own future. You know how important that is. I would have taught you if I had been there."

"I know," Ehlana whispered. "I guess it's just that I wish it could be me eleven years old again with you here."

Sparhawk wrapped his arms around her. "I know. I'm here now. That's all that matters."

The next day a report arrived from Dregon, Son of Dregos, King of Arcium. It was marked urgent and carried by someone Sparhawk was very familiar with.

"We haven't seen enough of you, Bevier," Sparhawk greeted his old friend.

"When his majesty said he had urgent letters for the other monarchs, I offered to carry this one right away. I had some business in Chyrellos anyway, and I could not pass up an opportunity to visit. What has it been now, three years?"

"Ehlana, look who's here," Sparhawk said when they reached the council chamber where Ehlana was working.

"Oh, Sir Bevier!" she squealed and ran to him. Sparhawk was almost surprised. Bevier actually hugged her before he bowed to her.

"Not, 'Sir' anymore, your Highness. But I imagine that title still applies," he said modestly.

"You mean they finally decided?" Sparhawk asked.

"Yes. About six months ago, we received word from the Hierocracy that their decision had been made."

"Congratulations, your grace," Sparhawk said. "I see they let you keep your axe."

"Yes. I convinced them of that. At the conference one of my fellow Cyrinics asked them if one of them would care to volunteer to come take it away from me. They stopped discussions on that topic right away."

"They've finally done what they should have done four years ago," Ehlana said. "All you were missing was the title."

"I do what God tells me."

"Don't we all," she agreed.

"You said in your letters that Vanion and Sephrenia had moved back to Eosia. What has the Hierocracy had to say about that?" he asked Sparhawk.

"Well, to tell you the truth they don't know about it."

"Are you keeping secrets from our Holy Mother?"

"Yes," Sparhawk said simply, but cautiously. Bevier still might not have lost enough of his piety to accept silence about what was a pretty terrible sin in the eyes of the Church.

"Well this one is worth keeping," he said with a slight smile.

"They're here," Sparhawk told him, relieved. "They came for a visit a few weeks ago."

"What a pleasant surprise. I must see them."

Ehlana smiled. "Pleasant surprise indeed," she murmured.


	4. The option of eliminating processes

Chapter 4

The letter stated that a man in a black robe that spoke no Elenic or Styric had visited the court, obviously looking for someone. King Dregon had put out a search for an interpreter when the strange emissary, as he put it, disappeared. He warned the Elenian government to be on the lookout for anyone fitting the man's description and to give him aide, for he seemed very earnest about whatever his business was. "Earnest indeed," Sparhawk murmured as he read.

"Did you see the man?" Sparhawk asked Bevier. The two knights sat with Berit, Kalten, Khalad, Talen, and Vanion in the red- carpeted council chamber.

"Not personally, but two Cyrinics did. They described him as middling height, black hair, and sharp angular brows. The funny thing is, he has even scars on his face, one on each cheek." He paused. "He sounds pretty much like he is of the same race as your two. We didn't check his feet though, but I would bet the Arcian treasury that he has one of those brands. From what you've told me, these people seem pretty dangerous." He frowned. "This all seems fairly recent. I wonder if the other Elenian kingdoms are having these, shall we say, encounters. I wish there was a fast way to get in touch with our friends. That's the benefit of having friends of all different races. When they go home, you have someone to tell you what's going on."

Vanion stood looking out the window, watching a closely guarded Sephrenia and Ehlana playing in the garden outside with Danae, Astara, a pile of kittens, and, surprisingly enough, the still-intact royal toy Rollo. Astara seemed overjoyed with her new companion, and she giggled at her mother with one of Rollo's ears stuck in her mouth. Sparhawk set the letter down and walked to the window, thinking hard. There was something very unusual going on here, and he tried to prepare for it mentally. He was used to pretty unusual stuff, but recently he had come to the conclusion that his job would now be normal.

The look on Vanion's face indicated that he was thinking much the same thing. Normally Sephrenia would be with them, discussing the importance of all of this, but Vanion had decided against it. Fatherhood had made him a lot less severe, but he still thought only of Sephrenia's happiness. Sparhawk could tell his friend was quite worried about what kind of connection Sephrenia would have with the assassins, and he obviously did not want her to share the worry.

'The issue is this," Sparhawk said, laying it out. "We have an enemy, or for the moment we could say we have a hostile unknown. We have no way of fighting it because we don't have the slightest clue where it came from, not to mention who's behind it or how powerful it is."

"So we're just going to sit here while we hold our breath against another of those bear-footed madmen to attack Sephrenia?" Kalten objected. "I don't think they'll miss again, Sparhawk."

"What do you suggest we do, Kalten?" Vanion asked him, turning around. "Do you have any information we don't?"

"I just hate sitting around doing nothing."

"We all do," Sparhawk said. "That's why we're trying to figure out something to do."

"Maybe we should ask our friends if they have any ideas at least," Khalad suggested.

"We could go a step further and have them over for a royal visit, Khalad," Ehlana said, entering. Stragen and two guards followed her.

Sparhawk thought about that for a moment. "It's not a bad idea, Sparhawk," Kalten approved. "It will give us something to do anyway, not to mention the opportunity to see old friends."

"Were you serious, Ehlana?" Sparhawk asked his queen.

"Well, kind of half- serious, but if you think it is a good idea, then I don't see why not. Maybe they have more information than we do." Everyone nodded agreement. Sparhawk gave it one final thought, gazing back out the window. Danae looked straight at him and rolled her eyes. Then she nodded slightly and winked. Sephrenia also rolled her eyes.

"Alright," he said finally. "Since Bevier's already here, Stragen, would you find some people to go to Deira and Thalesia?"

"I'll go myself," the blonde thief offered. "I should look in on my government, and make sure the books match, and Deira's on the way." He paused. "I don't think you'll grant me this, Sparhawk, but I have to ask. Do you mind if I take Talen with me?"Sparhawk couldn't see any problems with that. "Actually, I would have been surprised if you hadn't asked. He's doing very well in his training, and some measure of protection should be in order. Talen works well with you, and this should give him a good way to apply his Pandion training to real life." He frowned. "Why doesn't Berit go as well?" he suggested. "Just in case."

"Okay. Berit shouldn't slow us down too much." He smiled winningly at Sparhawk. "We'll leave today. No use wasting any time. We can get a few leagues or so before we have to stop."

"You don't mind, Berit?" Sparhawk asked the young knight.

"Of course not, Lord Sparhawk."

"Please Berit, I've told you not to call me that. I'm you're friend. Being your boss is just an accident."

That afternoon, Sparhawk stood upon the battlements of the palace thinking over a number of issues he had been ignoring for the past few months. If some new evil was cropping up again, he had a responsibility to pound all the loose ends into place. The first loose end, he decided, was Khalad, who was continuing to give him problems. He had trained the young man in every tactic known to knighthood until he was as good as Sparhawk himself, yet when offered the armor he flatly refused. He completely ignored Sparhawk's objections and called himself a squire. Kalten had suggested that Sparhawk just let him be such, and Sparhawk was beginning to agree with that assessment. Although he was the only knight with a squire, he had never not had one, and was afraid it would ruin his friendship with Khalad if he pressed the matter too much. He finally resolved to chock it all up to being queen's champion that he had such an archaic arrangement. He still chafed at the loss of the wonderful knight Sir Khalad, but felt rather happy with the decision, and immensely relieved that he had finally arrived at one.

Talen, on the other hand, had surprisingly embraced his knight training fervently. He reveled in it to an almost savage degree, and he was every bit as good as his brothers on the practice field. He was a formidable opponent not only because of his genetics and devotion, but also because he was the fastest knight Sparhawk had ever seen. He had acute senses and could almost feel a sword silently swung behind him before the attacker had even lifted the weapon.

Sparhawk looked down into the stable yards where Berit, Talen, and Stragen were saddling horses. The two young knights looked huge next to the wiry Thalesian thief. Sparhawk sighed. Talen really was turning into a fine young man. He was almost as handsome as Berit, and was very loyal to those he trusted. Platime had complained loudly upon seeing him again that Sparhawk had ruined him. _Ruined him for _pure_ dishonesty, yes_, Sparhawk thought, _but for anything else..._ He started to have serious thoughts about his daughter and Talen and certain arrangements. True Danae was only eleven, but a few years could go by surprisingly fast. He had been dead set against the idea of his daughter and Talen when he had first heard it, but the changes in Talen over the years since then had completely changed his mind. The one deterrent was that Talen would be closer to the throne, and Sparhawk still had quite a few images of the thief-Talen hidden away in the back corners of his mind. He finally decided to go ahead and start making decisions as he watched the little party gallop out of the yard. The happiness of his daughter mattered most to him, and he firmly knew that Danae could keep Talen exactly where she wanted him.

"Of course I can, Father." Sparhawk jumped.

"Don't do that, Danae."

"What, Father?" She smiled primly at him as she came to stand next to him. "It's about time you started listening to me on this subject."

"There's still one hurdle for you," he advised her. "You're going to have to be the one to tell him who and what you really are."

"I know, Sparhawk. I'm waiting for the right time. You can't rush these things."

"It's one thing to keep it from your mother, but if you're going to marry him, he has a right to know."

"At the right time, Sparhawk," she repeated.

"And when is this special time?" he asked her.

"About a year and a half after we're married sounds about right to me."

They had only a short time to wait for their friends. Sparhawk was surprised to see the small party riding up to the palace gates early six days later. He hurried down from his usual perch on the parapet to greet them, grabbing people on the way. By the time he was on the steps he had collected everybody.

Ulath and Tynian were as Sparhawk had seen them last - large, imposing, and together. "How did you manage to get here so fast?" he asked Stragen as they reigned in their horses.

"Something or someone must be playing tricks. I met them on the road not three days ago, on their way here," Stragen replied.

"What were you doing so far south, my lords," Khalad asked.

"Darellon got Dregon's message about three and a half weeks ago, and immediately sent for me," Tynian spoke up. "But I wasn't in Deira at the time." He looked at Ulath.

"Somehow I see there is more to this than just the travels," Sparhawk said. "Why don't we all go inside."

Ulath walked over to Tynian's horse and put out one arm. The Alcione Knight leaned heavily on his friend as he dismounted, and grunted as he hit the ground. He favored his right side, Sparhawk noticed.

"What have you done to yourself?" Kalten asked him.

Tynian looked at Ulath again. "Inside," he said with a pained expression.

Soon they were all seated around the red draped council chamber. Tynian began his story. "About seven months ago, my Genidian friend here invited me to hunt boar in the mountains. I like boar hunting as much as the next man, and am fairly good at it. I come back alive anyway. We went up into the mountains north of Heid. We're there for some time, and we're doing fairly well, when we hear a noise off in the trees. I ask Ulath what it is." Tynian looked darkly at the blonde Genidian. "'Nothing,' says he, 'probably just a troll.' I know we're safe unless the troll is a heretic and has gone against Gnomb's order of not killing humans. However, as it started to get closer, it did not sound like a troll. We returned to camp, and waited there until evening, when we found ourselves face to face with the ugliest thing I have ever seen. At first I thought it had put on Ulath's helmet. Then I realized it _was_ Ulath's helmet."

"Ogre," Ulath grunted.

"Surrounded by snow, we realize that not only is the ogre huge, she's also female. She's got two pups with her. They climb the nearest tree, and she starts bellowing. I'm thinking we should run, but it's fairly obvious from the size of the ogre's legs that that might not be the best option." He paused. "Well, we start to fight, and it got pretty rough. Eventually, though, we escaped from the she-ogre."

"Obviously," Kalten said impatiently. "How? What happened?"

"Well Ulath did most of the fighting, but in the course of the fight I badly bent my sword and wound up in the infirmary of the Genidian motherhouse at Heid with a dislocated hip."

"It wasn't my fault," Ulath said mildly. "How was I supposed to know the ogre would be there?"

"Anyway, this was about six weeks ago, so I'm well on the mend. Now to business. We have some information for you."

"Good. All we have is corpses," Sparhawk said.

"Well we have a corpse," Ulath told him. "I wonder if ours looks anything like yours."

"What did your corpse do?" Kalten asked him.

"Mostly just lay there."

"No. I mean when he was alive. Why did you kill him and how is he connected with what's been happening here?"

"He started sneaking around important places and trying to poison people."

"How do you _try_ to poison someone?" Kalten asked. Ehlana cleared her throat. "Sorry, Your Majesty, but you were kind of a special case. I mean, how did you find out it was him, and who was poisoned?"

"We caught him with his spoon in the royal soup pot on the day that Darellon and Alcacia, our Styric tutor, were scheduled to meet with the new King."

"I still can't believe you actually elected someone to be your king," Tynian said. "I mean, he's very nice and all, but how good is he going to be?"

"Well what else were we supposed to do? Wargun finally kicked the pail, and he hasn't had an heir since Avin was drowned in that barrel. This man is distantly related to the family."

"I have rather high hopes for him. I'm met him before, and he knows how to deal with people well," Stragen offered.

"Where do _you_ know him from?" Ulath looked startled.

"Nevermind. It was some time ago."

Ulath looked darkly suspicious.

"We're loosing track here," Sparhawk cautioned them. "Back to the dead assassin." Sparhawk handed Tynian a sketch of the man.

"Doesn't look a thing like him," Ulath said. Sparhawk's heart sank. "Did yours by any chance have a funny paw brand on his foot?"

Sparhawk blinked. "Yes, both of them did. Just what did your man look like."

"A lot like me. I don't think he would have been out of place anywhere in Elenia, except maybe Arcium. He was blonde, large, he had a beard, which is a little out of fashion for Thalesians these days, but not unheard of."

"Did he had any kind of documentation on him, any money?"

"He had quite a bit of strange red gold, and this letter. We couldn't read it, and no one we asked could find any sense in it," Tynian said, pulling a letter out of his tunic.

Sparhawk took the letter and opened it. It was written in a language he could almost read. He pulled out his assassin's letter and compared the two. They were very different. He swore. "I wish I could read these." Then he had an idea. "Do you mind if I keep the letter?" he asked Ulath and Tynian.

"Sure," Tynian said. "This is a copy of the original anyway."

They discussed more of the topic, about the attacks maybe being racist in nature, since they seemed to be looking for Styrics. Sparhawk became more and more silent, wondering and hoping his idea would work, and when the topic turned to the weather and other mundane matters, he excused himself and went looking for his daughter.

He found her in her room still entertaining Astara. Despite the age difference, he could tell they were becoming fast friends. Astara was doing serious things involving kittens and much giggling.

"Yes, Father?" Danae asked when he entered.

"I have a question for you."

"You usually do."

"Be nice. Is it okay to ask in front of...I mean is she old enough..."

"She already knows, Father. Think about whose daughter she is."  
"Good point." He produced the letters. "Can you read either one of these?"

She looked at them intently. "What language are they written in?"

"I have no idea," he replied. She stared at them a little harder. "Well?"

"Hush, father. I'm trying." She paused. "Kiss me. I need devotion from my worshippers." He did so. "How nice," she said, smiling at him.

"Just read them. Don't get cute."

She stuck out her tongue at him and looked back at the papers. Then her eyes widened and she gasped. "What is it, what do they say?" he demanded

"They both say relatively the same thing."

"Which is?"

She began to read the one Tynian and Ulath had brought. "'Blevik, I have given you the money you asked for in threefold. Your men should be in place. By the time this letter reaches you, mine will be as well. The time is set for two days from now at your noon hour. His Majesty still knows nothing, I trust, so this should go off well. The trap is set and we will spring it. Our troubles will be over and our Gods will be freed from the mind sickness so long held over them. It is time to kill the black haired witch.'" She looked up. "It's not signed."


	5. On the Road Again

Chapter 5

"I'm sure, Sparhawk. They look kind of like Styrics, but I've never seen them before."

Sparhawk sat with Danae, Sephrenia, and Astara in his blue-draped sitting room late that night. After Danae had assured him that the door to the sleeping chamber was firmly un-openable, they had gotten down to business.

"Even _I_ don't know who they are, Father," Danae said. "If I don't know, I doubt Sephrenia will."

"I realize that, Danae. I'm just trying to rule out the possibility of retribution from some spiritually sore Styric who sees Sephrenia as the cause of all his problems."

"Elene logic again?" she said sarcastically. "I thought we weaned you off of that."

"Be nice," Sephrenia told her. "If I didn't know any better, _I_ would think that way too."

"Thanks," Sparhawk said dryly. "What I meant was that it's happened before."

"I think Zalasta was something special, Sparhawk," Sephrenia said quietly. "This seems a lot less definite."

"But fairly organized. As far as I can tell, these two letters came from two different parts of the world."

"That's some collaboration," Danae agreed.

"This is all so troubling," Sparhawk said suddenly. "I wish they would just leave us alone."

"I know, dear one," Sephrenia said. "No one knows it more than I."

Sparhawk frowned at Danae. "I have a question for you, Little Mother, that you may find wildly off topic, but that has been bugging me for some time."

"You can always ask, Sparhawk. You know that."

"It's just that, it's been eleven years, and frankly I'm becoming pretty concerned about Ehlana ever having any more children."

"I'm sorry, Sparhawk," Danae said. "Remember when I told you that the poison made her barren?"

"I thought you over came that."  
"I did, once. For me. I'm destined to be an only child. She cannot have a child on her own."

"I was afraid of that," Sparhawk said sadly.

"I'm sorry Sparhawk," Sephrenia told him.

"Does she know?"

"Yes."

"Then how did you explain…" he looked at Danae.

"She figured out something was wrong and sent me an inquiring letter about two months after we all returned home five years ago," Sephrenia said. "I told her that it had just taken that long for the poison to kill off her womb, and that she was very lucky to have Danae."

Suddenly Sparhawk gained an insight into every little thing over the past years that Ehlana had done that he had thought slightly over-protective. She knew Danae was her last child, and only heir.

"In fact, on the day we first met our scarred friends she was coming to ask me a question about other problems that are involved with that sort of thing that the poison caused."

"Even now?" he asked, concerned.

"Some of them have taken this long to show up. Ehlana was still pretty much a child in that area when she was poisoned and it caused things to not advance correctly."

Sparhawk sighed and made a fist. "I'd kill Annias again if I could. Every day of his life."

"I know, dear," she said. "I know."

"We know this much," Sparhawk summed up. "The attacks were directed at Sephrenia. Or at least the one here was, and I bet the one that thief killed wasn't too far behind him."

It was about noon the next day. The faces of his friends were hard and dangerous after the news of the attackers' letters.

"I still don't know how you were able to figure out what the letters said," Stragen said.

"Like I said, the knights at Rose Street have very specialized talents," Sparhawk told him carefully.

Stragen raised his eyebrows and Sparhawk thought that the blonde thief still had his suspicions, but he let it drop.

"We should not have come back," Vanion said again.

"No, dear one," Sephrenia told him. "We cannot hide in Styricum all our lives. We have a right to visit our friends and I do not intend to live in fear all of my life. Besides, we had no way of knowing."

"We need to find out who is behind this," Sparhawk told them. "I have had every information gathering society I can think of on this since it happened and I still haven't come up with anything."

"It's only been a month, Sparhawk," Ehlana said. "Give it time."

"We may not have time."

"If I may, this all seems to be pretty localized. I mean, we know that these people have been in the cities, but we haven't heard about them in any of the towns and villages," Talen offered.

"I don't want to spend another year galloping around the countryside looking for something that probably isn't there," Sparhawk said.

"Can you think of anything better, my Lord?"

"No, and that's what bothers me."

"It's actually not a bad idea, Sparhawk," Tynian said. "We might even catch a live one of these bear-footed assassins."

"And it will give us something to do," Kalten agreed.

"Even if it is kind of a last resort effort," Berit said.

"I don't know that all of us need to go marauding around," Sparhawk told them.

"You certainly aren't leaving me behind, Sparhawk," Ehlana told him. "The last time you did that, I ended up kidnapped and dragged around half the known world."

"But I want you to be safe, Ehlana."

"I'll be safe with you." She batted her eyelashes at him.

"I'll be going as well," Sephrenia said.

"I was going to suggest that," Vanion told her. "I want you where I can get my hands on you." He paused, and actually blushed slightly. "For safety reasons, of course," he added quickly. "But I think we should leave Astara under the protection of the church knights."

"I agree."

"May I go with you mother?" Danae asked, somewhat carefully.

"It going to be very dangerous, Danae," Ehlana told her in a tone that quite obviously vetoed the idea.

"That's what Father's for, isn't it?"

"Well…"

"It might not be a bad idea, Ehlana," Sparhawk told her. "If you're going you can be teaching her how a queen would handle this situation. I think she's old enough. She is almost twelve." He hoped that would work. He felt very strongly that Danae should be with them, but knew it would be hard to convince Ehlana.

"Please, Mother. I don't wish to be left out," Danae said in a small voice.

Ehlana sighed and nodded. Sparhawk knew Danae had used the exact phrasing on purpose to get her mother to agree.

"Kalten, you don't have to come with us if you would rather stay behind," Sparhawk told his friend, looking meaningfully at Alean.

"Oh, I'll be alright, Prince Sparhawk. I would not keep him here to look after me," she told him.

"Are you sure?" Kalten asked her.

"Go be a knight, my Lord," she said, somewhat playfully. "I will be the dutiful wife waiting at home."

"I'll be with her, my Lord," Melidere told him. She turned toward Stragen. "I assume you intend to go?"

"Of course."

Sparhawk committed himself. "Alright, since everyone seems to be in agreement, let's make preparations."

It was only a few days until Sparhawk found himself standing on the steps of the palace, saying goodbye to it once again. He was so tired of leaving home for dangerous things. Why couldn't they just leave him _alone_? He still did not entirely trust this endeavor, but it appeared to be the only thing to do. And so his heart was heavy as he and his twelve companions turned their backs on the city and galloped north.

The rains had stopped and the sun had decided to show its face again. The fields and woodlands around them were green and fresh, smelling of life and the joy of growing. Birds were prolific overhead, seeming to grow from the branches of the trees themselves, and Sparhawk caught glimpses of deer and other wildlife among the broad trunks. Faran was very frisky this morning, and made numerous attempts to romp away from the group. Sparhawk wondered at his behavior. Faran's age alone should be enough to keep him sedate. He sighed as he reined the big horse in yet again. It was going to be a long day.

There was no evidence of their quarry in the first village they came across, nor the second. By the third day out, Sparhawk was beginning to believe what they were doing was utterly futile.

The fourth day, however, in a small farming village a few leagues west of Cardos, they struck gold. A wiry little innkeeper, the first skinny one Sparhawk had ever seen, told them in a very excited voice about a man matching the description of the one who had attacked Sparhawk. He had bought a room for two nights, and had met with someone else of his race in his room.

"The funny thing was, my Lord," he told Sparhawk in a hushed voice, "he paid me in gold that's as red as blood." The man's eyes were furtive, suspicious. "I don't know what it's worth, but I'd sure like to get my hands on some more of it. It looks pretty rare."

"I imagine it is," Sparhawk said carefully. "Thanks for the information, neighbor." He handed the man a coin. A normal one. Sparhawk did not feel this man should have any more red gold for some reason.

He returned to the table where the other knights, Talen, Stragen, and Khalad sat. Vanion had prudently waited outside with the ladies and Danae. "We got lucky," he told them. "There were two in this very inn not three days ago."

"Which way were they headed?" Kalten asked, setting down his tankard.

"North, through Cardos, and they had some of that red gold with them."

"Do we want to press on tonight? There's still a few hours of daylight left."

"I think so. We need to find out where in the north they went, and I'm hoping we can do that in Cardos."

"We could save time and go north from here. There are a few villages north of Cardos," Tynian said. "We're bound to pick up their trail in one of them. The road passes through at least a few of them, I would suspect."

"Alright."

They remounted and pushed on, angling sharply northward. As they rode, the feeling of hopelessness left him and Sparhawk began to feel that same old rush that he felt whenever he was on the road leading to danger and intrigue. He did not often let it show, but the heat of battle that fired Kalten and his companions, the same fiery fervor that sparked the young novices that he taught flowed through his veins. He knew what they were doing was probably a wild goose chase, but he still desired the thrill of catching his quarry and putting his skill to the contest once again.


	6. A sheep in wolf's clothing

Chapter 6

The next morning they rode into a fairly large town named Amaunae just north of the Deiran border, nestled in the fork of the Styric River. It was a rather clean settlement, with orderly streets that formed straight blocks around a central square. Sparhawk could see office buildings lining the square. One office seemed bigger and more important than the rest. Tynian pointed at it. "There's the office of the Governor. He's actually a Baron with an estate that covers most of this land, but this section of the kingdom has been divided into districts for purposes of a census, so his title has temporarily changed. When we get there, let me do the talking. I know the Governor and I know how to get information out of him."

"Nevermind," Sparhawk said to Stragen, who was looking slant-eyed at Tynian.

"What?" the thief asked as they dismounted and walked their horses to the row of neat buildings.

"Just don't get any ideas." He turned back to Tynian. "Alright. I won't play mute, but I'll let you handle things the way you want."

When they reached the office, Sparhawk and the others picketed their horses. "Tynian and I will go in. I don't think we all need to jam into this man's office. Why don't you take the ladies out into the square."

"That's very nice, Sparhawk, but I'll be coming in with you as well," Sephrenia said.

"But-"

"No buts. You've been treating me like a porcelain doll ever since we left, and it's time I actually became involved. This does concern me rather chiefly. And besides, I hardly think there are any dangers in a room that small that I can't handle. Especially with you around. Now shall we go in?"

Tynian led the way inside and spoke briefly with a beady-eyed secretary. The man scurried away from his desk to the back room. In a moment he returned, followed by an older man Sparhawk presumed to be the Governor. His hair was reddish blonde touched with grey, yet he was built like a brick house and very nearly taller than Tynian.

"Tynian, dear boy, how nice to see you," he said expansively. "It's been quite a while. What on earth are you doing in my neck of the woods?"

"My friends and I are looking for someone, Governor Saretori. We were hoping you might help us out with some answers, as well as an update on recent news here in this, ah, neck of the woods."

"Please Tynian. You weren't that way when you were a child."

Tynian frowned at the Governor. "Can you help us or not?"

Saretori laughed. "Of course I can." He looked at them. "You are Prince Sparhawk of Elenia unless I am mistaken, and the lady must be your lovely Styric tutor. My utmost apologies, Madam, but I have not the pleasure of knowing your name."

"This is Sephrenia," Sparhawk introduced.

"Please join me in my private chamber," he offered.

"What was it you wanted to know?" He asked when they were all seated around the splendidly furnished apartment. Sparhawk told him about the assassins and showed him the pictures of both. Saretori frowned and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "I didn't see anyone myself, but I did overhear a conversation about the brands. And a few of people matching this description," he tapped the picture of Ulath's man, " were run out of town for being a public nuisance a couple of nights ago. They apparently were holding some sort of service in the square in the middle of the night." He reached under his desk. "They left these behind," he said, laying a bundle on the desk. He opened it to reveal four bearskin tunics.

"How interesting. I wonder if these have any connection with the bear claw brand?" Tynian said.

"I don't doubt it," Sephrenia told him.

"Some new religious faction?" Sparhawk asked, hopeful that they had finally found the source.

"That might explain the attacks against Styrics."

"That might not have been racial in nature, Little Mother. We still only have two reported attacks."

"Yes but think what they're capable of."

"Well, whether they are or not is beside the point. We have some much-needed information. Not to mention the fact that we have gained a day. We should get back to the trail before it goes cold."

"Gained a day on what?" She asked him. "We don't even know who we are chasing."

"You know what I mean."

"Of course."

Sparhawk turned to Saretori. "Thank you, Governor. You've filled in a few holes for us."

"The least I could do, Your Highness." He paused and looked at Tynian. "If you see your mother soon, give her my regards."

"Of course, Governor."

"Tynian please. What happened to just Uncle?"

Tynian scowled at him. Saretori laughed. "Alright, I'll stop teasing you. Now go. And good luck."

"Thanks, Uncle," Tynian said grudgingly.

"Uncle?" Sparhawk asked Tynian as they went to find the others. "You said you knew him, not that you were related to him."

Tynian still looked slightly embarrassed. "My mother's youngest brother. He's no more than ten years older than I am, but he makes much of that fact. He's rather mischievous and loves to make a joke out of everything. He delights in teasing other people and adores the sound of his own voice."

Sephrenia cast a sidelong glance at Sparhawk. Sparhawk smirked.

"Why didn't you ask him about the gold, Sparhawk?" Tynian asked after a moment. Sparhawk took a while before answering. He really hadn't thought about it.

"Well, I think he would have shown it to me if he had any," he said lamely, trying to sort out his feelings toward the money. "Besides, it might be dangerous to flash strange gold about," he realized that was rather hollow. "I just didn't think it was really important." That sounded even worse. For some reason he was reluctant to produce it, lest it fall into the wrong hands.

Tynian and Sephrenia gave him odd looks but said nothing as they stepped outside. A peculiar scene greeted them. Kalten stood on the street with two other large men. They both had bristling beards and it appeared as if they had drunk a great deal. Kalten had an angry look on his face. Ehlana and the others stood behind him, with equally insulted expressions. The two men were unarmed, and Kalten had not unsheathed his sword, but he had pulled back his fist. Sparhawk knew that look. It had been the same look and the same fist that had broken his nose.

"Would you like to rephrase that?" the blonde knight demanded of one of the swaying men. "I wish you good luck, because I don't think there is any way for you to put it that won't land my fist in your teeth."

"Don't bother, Sir Kalten, just hit the drunken louts," Ehlana said haughtily from behind Vanion. "I've heard much worse before."

"I'll bet you have, strumpet," the man closest to Kalten belched. Suddenly he fell over backwards in the dirt clutching his nose. Kalten examined the back of his clenched fist. He made a face and carefully wiped his knuckles on his pants.

Sparhawk came up next to him. "Excuse me," he said to the still standing ruffian. "What exactly were you saying about my wife?" The man's eyes grew wide. He appeared slightly less drunk than his companion, who still lay in the dirt of the street, one hand to his face. Quickly he grabbed his friend by the shoulder and tried to pull him to his feet. They were both barefoot, and as they struggled, Sparhawk noticed a pattern on the fallen man's foot. He squinted at it, but the man had stood before he could make it out. It could have been a bear claw, but he couldn't be sure, and he didn't think he could get anything out of them anyway. He watched them shuffle down the street. He was getting really tired of wild goose chases.

There was a large stretch of open grassland above Amaunae, running for about sixty leagues north until reaching the fairly large business town of Megiddo. Sparhawk looked at his ever-present map with disgust. It was beautiful territory, but it would be a while before they would receive confirmation that their target had not changed direction in these plains. In that time all traces could be lost. On the other hand, if they decided to search these lowlands and vales they might very well run around in circles for the rest of the year. Their choice was quite clear, but Sparhawk still did not like it.

They started out in late afternoon and rode until it was quite dark. The moon was full and bright, casting a hazy luminescence over the hills that made stopping seem unprofitable. Finally Sparhawk called a halt and they set up camp for the night. He fell asleep almost immediately, although he had not felt overly weary.

Something happened then that had not happened for many years. Sparhawk began to dream.

He was standing in the back of a large room that seemed to be underground. The four others in the room paid him no attention. They were figures much like the scarred assassin and they seemed to be arguing. One of the figures had a purple lined hood the others wore green-lined hoods. The one with the purple hood had drawn something on the floor and was trying to point something out to his three companions. He gave the impression that he was in charge, and that the men in green hoods were his subordinates. Suddenly all talk broke off as Purple-hood began to make gestures with his hands. Sparhawk's head suddenly began to pound as he heard, and felt, a strange surge that seemed to drain all energy from him. A swirl of grey clouded the room as the green hoods also began to chant. Sparhawk was somehow drawn towards the diagram on the floor that the men were standing around. He tried to grab something, to stop himself, but the rest of the room appeared to be insubstantial. Sparhawk grabbed for one of the green hooded men's robes but his fingers slid through the cloth as if it wasn't there. Sparhawk's foot touched the drawing on the floor. His head exploded with a wrenching pain, and with a strangled cry he awoke.

He found Danae looking him worriedly in the face. "Are you alright father?" she asked. Sparhawk sat up, shaking. He glanced at Ehlana. She was still asleep. She appeared to be alright. He nodded. "That was a very odd dream," she told him. "I don't have any idea what kind of magic the people in it were using. It didn't seem to be addressed to any god that I've ever heard of."

"What did it mean?" Sparhawk asked with a dry whisper.

"It's alright, Sparhawk, Mother won't wake up. She almost did when you started thrashing around."

"You saw it, then?" Things like this no longer surprised him.

"Most of it. I was kind of seeing it through a wall." She sighed. "I don't know what it means, Sparhawk. It was a little frightening though."

Sparhawk shook his head. "I don't know if I can go back to sleep."

"Try. I'll be here, Father."

"Usually it's the other way around," he told her. "I should be comforting _you_." He lay back down. She took his head in her lap and wrapped her arms around him.

"Sleep, Father," she murmured. And he did just that. This time he did not dream.

The next day dawned clear and warm. It was nearing the end of summer, though this day seemed like the beginning of spring. Dew clung to the grass all around them and flipped up from the hooves of their horses. The terrain around them had changed a little since the night before. In the daylight there appeared to be more trees, and the hills surrounded a wide vale that Sparhawk had not noticed in the darkness. As he rode, he began to feel a little better about their journey. He desperately wanted to lead a normal simple life, but perhaps that was just not an option for him. He resigned himself to this thought and was surprised by the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that it created. He watched the grass and trees and fields of flowers slide by as they rode north. Birds flew in clusters so thick at times they looked like clouds of flapping wings. Entire fields of flowers sprang into life as butterflies at their passing. Deer and rabbits, as tame as house pets, stared at them as they rode by. This was perhaps the most beautiful country he had ever seen.

They rode down the hills toward the green basin in the sparkling sun of new morning. "Kind of reminds me of Flute's haven," Talen mused. Sparhawk agreed. He half expected to see the lolling tigers, or look into the liquid eyes of the gentle white hind that was his companion in that little heaven. He almost could feel the touch of Flute's little hand in his, could almost hear her pipes.

"What's that?" Kalten asked, squinting ahead of them.

"What?" Sparhawk also squinted.

"That big patch of dark green right in the middle there." He pointed to the center of the vale.

"Impossible," Bevier breathed. "It's a tree."

"From this distance? You can make that out from here?" Khalad demanded.

"It is a tree!" Talen exclaimed. "It's got to be huge if we can see it like this from here. We're leagues away from it."

"It may be just a cluster of trees growing really close together," Vanion offered.

"I don't think so, my Lord. I can only make out one trunk. Although who knows at this distance."

"I'm curious," Tynian said, shifting his hold on the reins as if eager to run down the hill.

"So am I," Bevier agreed. "Let's go find out what it is. It may be a good place to camp." He was almost laughing in his excitement.

Sparhawk could feel the giddiness that seemed to have suddenly filled them all. He galloped along with them down the side of the broad hill. Faran seemed almost to float through the springtime feel of the air around them.

"Even at this speed it will probably take us over an hour to reach it," He shouted.

"So?" Ulath said simply. Even the huge Genidian looked impatient to reach the monolithic tree. The party barreled down the grassy swale with childlike abandon. It seemed no harm could come to them here so caution was unnecessary.

Suddenly Sparhawk saw something in their path. He pulled tightly on Faran's reins, trying to keep the huge horse from surging straight into whatever it was. "Halt!" he cried at the others. Their horses all skidded to a stop and Ehlana almost flew from her saddle.

Sparhawk stared at what was before him. Two small children, twins, sat all unconcerned on the backs of two huge wolves. They blinked at Sparhawk and his companions in calm surprise for a moment, then one turned to the other and said something Sparhawk did not catch. The child giggled and pulled on the ear of the wolf on which it rode. Then as suddenly as they had appeared, the wolves and their riders moved silently into the trees.

Sparhawk slowly dismounted and laid a hand on Faran's quivering neck. He looked around at the patches of woods around them. "Maybe we should be a bit more cautious," he said, made slightly uneasy by what had just happened and berating himself for losing his sense of responsibility for their safety.

"Should we stop here?" Tynian asked. "Maybe one or two of us can scout out what's ahead before we take the ladies into someplace possibly dangerous." He also seemed shaken. "I've ridden through this area before, Sparhawk," he said, "and I've never seen anything like that. Maybe Flute's playing tricks. It be nice to see her again, but we should be on our guard."

Sparhawk glanced at Danae, but her expression was a baffled as the others. He nodded. "Why don't we all dismount? There are wolves here and they don't seem all that shy. I don't particularly want anyone thrown today." The others slid from their horses.

"Do you want to head for the trees, Sparhawk?" Ehlana asked nervously, putting her arm around Danae.

Sparhawk looked towards the clumps of trees around them. He caught glimpses of dark furry bodies crouched low to the ground slinking through them.

"I think staying in the open would be better right now, dear."

Bevier drew his sword. "Don't do anything yet," Sparhawk cautioned him. "We'll continue on northward slowly on foot. With this many wolves in this area the horses may be more a danger to us."

They moved on cautiously. Sparhawk did not draw his sword, but walked with one hand on the hilt. The other hand held Faran's reins in a grip like steel.

They had perhaps gone a half-mile in this manner when two wolves appeared in front of them. They appeared to be the ones they had seen before, though now riderless. Faran began to paw at the turf with one hoof and Bevier's chestnut reared up. The other horses did not look any less calm.

The wolves sat quietly on their haunches. One of them, a male, was huge and grey, his face shot with silver. His companion was a tawny female. Neither showed any hint of attack, or even aggressiveness, although they were also on their guard. Sparhawk tightened his grip on his sword nonetheless.

The wolves looked at each other for a long moment. Then they stared at Sparhawk and his companions. Sparhawk had never seen wolves act this way, and was beginning to think about drawing his sword when the grey wolf stood. Then a very peculiar thing happened. In a seeming swirl of fog, the wolf turned into a man.

"All right, who are you and what are you doing here?"


	7. Going to the gods

Chapter 7

Sparhawk stood staring at the man, his sword half out of his sheath. He was not very impressive physically. He was rather old, though not infirm, and his clothes were obviously chosen for comfort rather than style. His shoes did not even match, Sparhawk noted. He had an attitude, however, that demanded respect. He had grayish brown eyes, the color of old oak, and grey hair so dark that strands of white gleamed in it like silver, and a lined face that had witnessed too many battles, too much hunger, too little kindness. This was definitely someone to be reckoned with.

"Well, I'm still waiting for an answer." The golden she-wolf growled at him softly. "No, I will not be more polite," he told her. "I demand to know what these Arends are doing down here in the Vale." The female actually rolled her eyes at him. Then she too shimmered into fog to be replaced by a tawny-haired fair woman with glowing golden eyes.

"You complicate matters too much," she said to him.

"They're _Arend_s, dear."

"Excuse me, neighbor" Sparhawk said. "I think I should point out that I have no idea what you are talking about. I have never before heard of an Arend, but that really does not concern me. What concerns me is reaching the city of Megiddo to the north safely. We are on a search of utmost importance and would take kindly to not being delayed. If we have intruded upon your land, we apologize, but as Knights of the Church-"

"You're not Arends?"

"I thought I just said that."

"Megiddo, you said? I've never heard of it."

"Well, you don't look like the type who would do much traveling," Kalten put in.

The old man frowned and then laughed. "You mean you don't have a clue who I am?" The thought seemed to be the most unlikely thing to the old man.

"I have never seen you before in my life," Sparhawk told him, slightly irritated.

The old man glanced at the woman at his side. "Just who are you?" he asked them.

"I could ask you the same thing, but since you asked first…My name is Sir Sparhawk of the Pandion order, Prince Consort and Queen's Champion of the Kingdom of Elenia." He introduced the others.

"And you said you're not Arends?"

"That's right."

"I'm Belgarath." The man held out his hands expectantly. He was answered by blank stares. "This is my wife Poledra."

"Pleased to meet you." Sparhawk thought a minute. "We'd like to be on our way, but since we're here, would you mind answering a few questions for us?"

"Not at all. I have some questions for you as well."

"Have you ever seen anyone matching this description?" Sparhawk held out the picture of the man who had attacked him.

Belgarath's reaction was striking. He took one look at the picture and raised an eyebrow. "A Grolim!"

Sparhawk was startled. "You know who he is?"

"I know what he is," Belgarath said. "Perhaps we'd better go somewhere we can sit down." He turned to his wife. "Dear, would you round up the twins and meet me at the cottage?"

"We will be led by you in this matter," Sparhawk told him. "What we need most is information, which you seem to have."

Belgarath nodded.

It was mid-afternoon when they reached a rather extensive cottage that was actually larger than the name implied. Khalad looked at the structure and the surrounding buildings with appreciation. "Excellent craftsmanship," he commented to Sparhawk. "Whoever built this knew what he was doing."

"My son in law, Durnik," Belgarath told him. "He's a Sendar, and their attention to detail is like an epidemic."

As they picketed their horses outside, Sparhawk saw a small group of people approaching the house. Two saintly old men, identical in every way, were walking next to the tawny wolf he now knew to be the woman Poledra. The two children he had seen before were also with them. One sat on the back of the wolf as before, the other on the shoulders of one of the old men.

"These are my brothers, Beltira and Belkira, and the little ones are my grandchildren." Belgarath said. He introduced Sparhawk and the others. Sparhawk was surprised at the old man's recollection of their names. The saintly old men smiled at them. One reached out his hand to Ehlana and stroked the side of her face. "So beautiful," he said. "So like our little Beldaran."

"They seem very confused about something, and this one," Belgarath indicated Sparhawk, "has a picture of an Angarak."

"I carry other things as well," Sparhawk informed them, producing the other sketches. Tynian removed the bearskin tunics from his saddlebags. Belgarath frowned deeply. "Both the Angarak, as you called him, and this blonde man wore this brand on their foot," Sparhawk explained.

"Impossible," Belgarath insisted. "The Bear cult would have nothing to do with Angaraks. What else have you collected?"

"These letters."

Belgarath read them. His eyes widened slightly. "Anything else? Even money?" He seemed intent for some reason.

"They had some red gold," Sephrenia told him, looking at Sparhawk strangely. "I'm sure we'd be happy to give it to you if you can get more information out of it than we can."

"Yes, you'd better hand it over."

Sparhawk felt strangely attached to the gold. His honorable duty to obey Sephrenia's statement warred with his desire to keep the money. "I'll show it to you," he said, "but I really think I should keep it. It may be useful to us later."

Belgarath looked at Sephrenia, seeming to sense the connection between her and Sparhawk, and shook his head slightly at her. Sephrenia stepped closer to Sparhawk. "Dear one, I really think it's a much better idea to give this man the gold. He can always give it back to you."

Reluctantly, with a shaking hand, he produced and dropped the gold in the old man's hand. Belgarath scowled at it and murmured a single word. The gold began to hiss, then melt. It ran from his outstretched hand like blood, falling to the ground and staining the grass a rusty color. Sparhawk reached to grab it, then blinked. He could now see how utterly foolish he had been about the gold, and began to have some suspicions.

"It's not a good idea to hold on to Angarak gold for very long. It has certain properties that make it's owner rather attached to it. It's very dangerous," Belgarath informed them. "Now that that's over, let's get to the bottom of this." He turned to Sparhawk once more, evidently identifying him as the leader. This old man was very shrewd, Sparhawk noted. "Where exactly are you from?"

"Like I said, we are from south of here in the Kingdom of Elenia. We set out to find the man or men behind certain assassination attempts we have seen. Our information was leading us to Megiddo, north of here." Sparhawk pulled out his map and pointed at the space of land north of the Styric River.

"You're map's all wrong," Belgarath told him. "The world looks nothing like that." He reached out his hand and a map appeared in it. "You, boy," he motioned at Talen. "Come hold this for me." Talen frowned, but did as instructed. Sparhawk gaped at the map. It was completely different. "We're here," the old man placed his finger on a region labeled "The Vale of Aldur." "The only thing north of here is the Algarian Stronghold." He moved his finger up to it.

"Something very bizarre is going on here," Sephrenia said, staring at the two wildly different maps.

_Maybe your dream had something to do with it, Father?_ Sparhawk heard Danae's voice say in his mind. He looked to where she sat on the rail fence of the yard, looking intently at him. He had almost forgotten about the dream. He glanced back at the map, then turned his eyes once again to his daughter. He jumped. A young man sat on the fence beside her. Danae frowned at Sparhawk, then followed his gaze to her side. With a startled cry she sprang from the fence, looking at the sandy haired youth with surprise.

"Eriond!" Belgarath exclaimed.

"Hello, Belgarath," the young man said, hopping down from the fence and making his way toward the sorcerer. "I'm sorry I haven't been to visit lately. I've been pretty busy. I just stopped by to see what all the noise was. Something very odd's been going on, and the trails led here." He smiled at Sparhawk. "It seems you have company. Hello," he said politely.

"Eriond, this is Sparhawk," Belgarath introduced the knight..

"Pleased to meet you. I'm very sorry I can't stay longer and meet all of you." He turned back to Belgarath. "We must get word to Polgara and Durnik at once, and Belgarion." He thought for a moment. "It would be better for you to go to the Stronghold, though. I don't think it would be good for Polgara to leave Cho-Hag at this point. I will make sure Belgarion knows of this as well. It may be that we need him again," he smiled slightly, "and he would like to know besides."

"Wait a minute, Eriond," Belgarath told him. "Do you have a copy of these?" he asked Sparhawk, indicating the pictures.

"Not anymore. We had a few, but we haven't had a chance to make any more."

Belgarath grunted. Then he looked at the twins. "Can I borrow some parchment?"

"Just give us the drawing, Belgarath," one said. A few sheets of blank parchment appeared in his hand. Belgarath handed the sketches to the other. Both twins looked intently at their papers. Then on the blank sheet the image of the Angarak's face took form. When it was fully drawn, they repeated the procedure with the other sketches.

"Thanks," Belgarath said, taking one copy. He handed the sheets to Eriond. "Show these to Garion."

"Of course, Belgarath. I wish I could go with you to see Polgara and Durnik." Turning to all of them he said, "I hope to see you all again soon, under good circumstances." And he disappeared. Sparhawk stood blinking at the spot Eriond had been a second before.

"I wish he'd warn me before he does that," Belgarath muttered. He sighed "Well, it's getting late. You can stay here. There's room in the house for the ladies, and the rest of you get to stay in the loft. Stables are over there."

"Thank you," Sparhawk told him as the others began to find their beds. "I am sorry to impose on you like this, and to just show up unannounced in what is obviously a sacred place to you. I hope that this can be resolved quickly and your lives returned to normal."

The old sorcerer shrugged. "These are strange happenings, but not the strangest I've seen in my long life. Get some rest. You seem a little frazzled." Then he walked into the house.

Sparhawk decided that he liked this old man. He was obviously very powerful and very wise. There was something else about him that made Sparhawk like him all the more. Belgarath seemed to have no need of thought or plan, just will. He did not act on impulse, but on instinct. Sparhawk began to wonder which was the old sorcerer's true form: man or wolf.


	8. Royal Flush beats a Full House

Chapter 8

King Belgarion of Riva sat at his desk in the royal library. He frowned at the letter from Polgara he had received the day before. It did not carry good news. Gravely he set the paper down and rubbed at his eyes. _The only problem with being a younger king,_ he thought, _is that all the other kings, your friends, are old._

Ce'Nedra entered, carrying their one-year-old daughter. She frowned at the look on his face. "What's the matter?" she asked him.

He poked the letter. "From Aunt Pol," he said.

"Is King Cho-Hag worse?"

"Much. It appears that things have finally caught up with him. The disease that crippled him as a child may now take his life."

"I'm sure Polgara can do something." It was not the first time she had said it.

"She's been there three months, Ce'Nedra, and he's gotten steadily worse. He's just to old to fight it this time."

She sighed. "I'm just trying to be optimistic, dear."

He smiled. "I know. I appreciate it." He fell silent. Ce'Nedra placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Why so grave, my king? I don't think it's only the letter."

"I had an odd dream last night," he told her. "I haven't done that in years."

"No you haven't. It may be important. Was it familiar?"

"No. Torak wasn't even in it. I got the distinct impression, though, that something was wrong."

"Maybe you can ask Polgara about it when you answer her."

He picked up the letter. "Or when we attend another royal funeral."

Kail came in then. Even after all these years, Garion had trouble thinking of the man as Brand, although that's what his official name probably should have been.

"Yes, Kail?" Garion asked him tiredly.

"Two things, Belgarion." Garion had almost had to threaten the man with bodily harm before he would call him something other than "Your Majesty". "Dinner will be ready in an hour, and you will be having a guest." He tried to conceal a smile.

"Who?" Garion asked curiously. It could be an acquaintance. It had been a while since he had seen any of his old friends.

"I was instructed not to tell you. It's supposed to be a surprise."

Garion scowled. "I don't need any more surprises today."

"Surprises of this sort are fun, dear," Ce'Nedra insisted.

"Maybe," he said dubiously.

"Your guest will be here in half an hour," Kail said and left.

A half- hour later Garion and Ce'Nedra sat on their thrones awaiting the arrival of their "guest". Garion had to admit, it was fun in a way to guess who it would be. He knew it wouldn't be his Aunt or Durnik, since they were at The Stronghold, and that would also let out Hettar. But there were numerous other possibilities, all of which he was anxious to see. He sat, drumming his fingers until Ce'Nedra placed her hand over his. "Relax," she breathed to him.

The door banged open and Garion jumped. Then frowned. It was Geran. "Where have you been?" he asked his son. Geran was nearing fourteen, and was granted quite a bit of freedom where his activities were concerned. Garion felt that he would soon have to be a little firmer in teaching Geran about punctuality.

Wolf entered at Prince Geran's side. He had a large pheasant in his mouth. Geran hung his head. Garion sighed. "Geran, please try to be a bit more careful when managing your time. Now go get dressed and return here as soon as possible. We'll discuss this later."

Geran flushed and almost ran past them toward the door that led from the throne room to the royal apartments. Nine-year-old Princess Beldaran stuck her tongue out at him from her seat next to Garion as he passed. Wolf gravely padded up in front of the thrones. He too looked sheepish, an odd expression on a wolf. He solemnly laid the pheasant on the floor. "One was hoping you would be pleased," he said with a low whine.

"One is pleased. That is a very nice kill. Your hunting skills are very good. But one would be more pleased if one's pup would let one know what he was doing."

"He is still young. You must teach him very much." Wolf picked up the dead bird. "One will take this outside. One thinks maybe it would frighten your kind to take it to the one who burns the food." Wolf had grown up in the palace, but the cook was still unnerved by the animal and what he would sometimes bring in. Garion always smiled at how the wolf addressed the man.

"You killed it. It is right you should eat it," Garion agreed.

"One thanks you." With quiet dignity, Wolf walked back to the door, toenails clicking as he left the carpet.

In a few moments Geran returned and sat in his place on the other side of his mother. She smiled at him, and Garion was hard pressed to stay irritated. Geran reminded him very much of someone he knew who was also known to run from reasonability at that age. Beldaran was, in turn, very much like her mother. Their other three children were napping in the Royal nursery. They sat for perhaps five more minutes before the door opened, ceremoniously this time, and the visitor was announced.

"His royal highness Prince Kheldar of Drasnia, beloved cousin of King Kheva."

The wiry little man stepped through the door. Garion almost leapt from his seat to embrace him. Instead he stood and walked down the steps of the dais to greet him.

Silk extended his hand gravely, but Garion couldn't stand it anymore. Throwing his fur cape off, he drew Silk into a hug.

"Well, warm reception," the spy said when Garion let go of him. Garion laughed. "I didn't want to give you enough time to bow. That still bothers me for some

reason," he said.

"Your Majesty," Silk said, bowing to Ce'Nedra extravagantly.

"Your Highness," she said inclining her head regally.

"Your Highnesses," he greeted Geran and Beldaran. Geran stood and bowed, and Beldaran curtsied gracefully.

Garion looked around at the court. "Let's go somewhere private."

"Good idea. We have some catching up to do."

"What are you doing way out here?" Garion asked him as they retired to the royal apartments.

"Something in the nature of a business assignment. I'm passing through."

"Oh. Is something afoot somewhere?" Ce'Nedra asked.

Silk looked around. Then shrugged. "I've been reassigned as Royal Investigator."

"For what?" Garion asked pouring Silk a glass of wine and excusing his children. "Don't forget, dinner soon," he reminded them as they left.

"There have been some incidents in Drasnia and Cherek that required investigation. I'm seeing how far they might have spread."

"I don't like that tone. What sort of 'incidents' exactly?"

"We are in the midst of investigating numerous reports of rogue factions still causing trouble in Cthol Murgos. We were probably getting too close, or there are more powerful entities than we expected working for their side, since about two months ago, our then-current Hunter was murdered by what we suspected to be a Grolim."

Ce'Nedra gasped.

"There's more," Garion said.

Silk nodded. "This is something we never would have expected, or believed if we hadn't seen it with our eyes. The Grolim had the brand of the Bear Cult on his foot."

Garion dropped his wine glass. "You're not serious."

"That's impossible," Ce'Nedra cried. "The Bear Cult hates Angaraks even more than they hated me."

"I didn't even think they had enough people left to cause problems, but here they are again, in our faces, causing problems," Silk complained. "When we searched his body there it was, on the sole of his left foot. Fairly recent, too."

Garion saw his face. "There's still more."

Silk nodded and sighed dramatically. "You're looking at not only the Royal Investigator, but the Chief of the Drasnian Intelligence Agency."

"What?"

"Javelin was Hunter."

Garion sighed heavily and hung his head. "I told you I hate surprises."

Dinner that night somewhat lifted Garion's spirits. Ce'Nedra had made the comment earlier that he always looked so grave, that he never smiled anymore. He realized that she was right. He watched his daughters torment Geran. The youngest, one year old Ce'Rian was trying very hard to stick her slice of bread to her brother. Ce'Nedra had given up entirely on separating them. Garion couldn't help but laugh.

"That's a good expression on you, Garion. You should do it more often," Silk said from Garion's left. "I know current events being what they are there is little to smile about, but let's face it, it could be a lot worse."

"Don't say that, Silk."

"You yourself should know firsthand how bad things can be, and have been in the past, and you also know that what is happening now is nothing you can do anything about. Until we need you and your big flaming sword."

"Thanks, Silk," Garion said. "I guess I have been worrying too much about things lately. It's just that in the past, I _was_ able to do something about it with that big flaming sword, as you put it, and now I feel so…"

"Useless?"

"No, just helpless. I'm perfectly content here with my family and I actually enjoy being King."

Silk gasped in mock surprise. "You?"

"Stop that. I just wish things would stay that way. It's not just that people I am close to are falling subject to time and mortality, it's that things are happening out there that I haven't even seen. I think 'I can go fix that,' but I know better." He grimaced. "I'm just too used to being the center of events, I guess."

"Well, you can be glad that it's not so bad that you have to go fix it," Silk told him. "Not yet anyway." He drained his wine glass, and snatched a nearby bottle. "That's not the only thing on your mind, though."

"I'm starting to get a little worried about my age. I don't have any guarantee that I won't outlive my children and my children's children. My fellow kings and my friends are all getting older, and I'm starting to wonder if I will as well. I don't think I could handle it like Aunt Pol or Grandfather."

"That is a good point." Silk paused. "I don't think so, though, Garion. I don't think that the Gods would put you through that, especially considering all you've done for them. Come to think of it, they owe you some pretty big favors. If nothing else, ask Eriond the next time you see him. As for me, I'm going to need more wine."


	9. Don't look a fanged horse in the mouth

Chapter 9

As the party reached the northern edge of the Vale of Aldur the morning after their arrival, Sparhawk looked back at the pleasant valley surrounding the cottage. Farther south in the distance he could make out towers, like the spires of some great cathedral rising above the tops of the trees. They were miles apart though, he realized, and separated by streams and the blue tongue of a river.

Belgarath rode at the head of the group, leading the way. Poledra had stayed behind to care for their grandchildren. The rest were strung out somewhat, too concerned with the gravity of their situation to make idle chatter.

After last night's brief conversation, Sparhawk was almost certain by now that his dream had had something to do with their quandary. He decided he needed to have a serious talk with his daughter about it. He let Faran slow until Danae's horse, riding somewhat at the rear caught up with him. Vanion, who was guarding the rear more out of habit that any real necessity, raised his eyebrows at Sparhawk as he neared him, but said nothing.

"Yes, Father?" Danae asked, matching her pace to his.

"I want to talk to you."

"And here I thought you just wanted to pleasure of my company. I'm hurt, Father."

"Be nice." He looked to where Ehlana rode with Sephrenia ahead of them. "Let's fall back a bit."

"Alright."

When they were out of earshot, Danae asked, "What's on your mind?"

"I keep thinking about that dream I had the other night. It has to be something fairly significant, and it obviously has something to do with us being here."

"We _have_ been transported by something," she confirmed. "Even the stars are different. There are strange forces here, Sparhawk."

"That young man we met yesterday, that Eriond, or whatever his name was, was pretty strange."

"He's a god, Sparhawk."

"He is?" He was stunned. "How do you know?" She raised one eyebrow at him.

"Sorry. Well, now we know that this is even more important than we thought, if there are gods involved."

Vanion turned around. "Sparhawk, Belgarath wants a word with you."

Sparhawk spurred his horse forward. "Yes?" he asked the old man.

"It will take us the better part of the week to get to the stronghold. The region we're about to enter is far more dangerous than the Vale. Of course, probably everywhere is more dangerous than the Vale," he said idly, "except perhaps Prolgu." He took a small flask out from under his stained tunic. "We will have to be on our guard and fairly alert. The southern edge of Algaria borders Ulgoland, which is filled with nasty creatures."

"Monsters?" Sparhawk asked grimly. There were _always_ monsters.

"Yes, I'd call them that. Not to their faces, though." He took a swig. "Drink?" he offered Sparhawk.

Over the course of the next few days Sparhawk began to like their guide more and more. The old sorcerer was lazy, indolent, and loved strong drink, but Sparhawk got the sense that there was nothing Belgarath couldn't do. He rode with him by the hour, listening to the old man tell him of the land, of the people that lived in it, and some of it's history. Soon he lapsed into the mode of storyteller, a guise that fit him like an old comfortable coat. The others would gather close around to hear him tell of the ancient Gods and battles that he himself had seen, or so he said. He told them stories of old, then moved on to tell them of things that had happened less than twenty years ago. Sparhawk had to admit, the old man was even a better weaver of tales than the ever talkative Tynian. Talen looked upon the man as divine and hung on his every word with rapt attention.

"You mean this Belgarion is still alive?" he asked at one pause.

"Yes, my grandson still lives, and is still king of Riva. If we're unlucky you might get to meet him."

"Why do you say if were unlucky?"

"Haven't you been listening, boy?" It seemed the old man called everyone "boy". "Belgarion and his blazing sword show up when things start to go wrong. Besides, Riva is along way from here, and you probably won't have to go there."

"Oh." Talen sounded disappointed.

"Belgarath," Stragen said politely, "I am fascinated by this kingdom you mentioned, what was it, Drasnia. You mean their national industry is spying?"

Sparhawk groaned. "Never mind, Stragen," he told the thief.

Belgarath frowned at him. "What's this?"

"Stragen is a thief. A rather notorious one. He runs his own thieves' government," Sparhawk informed him.

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," Stragen accused indignantly.

Belgarath burst out laughing. "Porenn would kill me," he said. "Although maybe that's just what Drasnia needs." He gave the blonde Thalesian a shrewd look. "You and Silk would be dangerous together. Marvelous, but definitely dangerous."

They rode down into a sea of grassland, banked on their left by a dense forest. "Stay alert, now," Belgarath warned. "There've been quite a few sightings this year, and this is the mating season for almost everything out there. If we're going to run into danger, we're going to do it here."

"How long is this danger zone?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Until we lose the forest. Usually they don't come out of the mountains, but they're very erratic. We want to stay close to the woods for a while, though. It's very easy to get turned around out in all that grass. If we keep the woods on our left for a day or so, then we'll be pointed north. From there we should be able to see the Stronghold."

Sparhawk did some math in his head. "Just how large is this fortress?"

"Fortress, nothing," Belgarath told him. "It's their city. The Algars are nomads. This is the capital, but it's also the only city in the entire kingdom. They put it here to keep the Angaraks at bay, and give them something to attack when they get bored."

"It's their only centralized populace? It's bound to be impregnable. If I were invading I wouldn't attack it, I would just go around."

"You're not an Angarak. Their motto is 'If you build it, we will come bash our heads against it.'"

They rode for perhaps an hour before Belgarath stopped with a muted oath. "What's wrong," Kalten demanded, looking around.

A low growl sounded from the trees. "I was afraid of that. Look." The old man pointed. On a high hillock that broke above the trees perhaps a half mile away, framed by the evening sun, stood two or three horses. They looked like horses to Sparhawk, at any rate.

"What? Just a couple of stray horses," Kalten scoffed.

"They're not horses. They're Hrulgin."

"They're what?"

"Hrulgin. They are similar to horses in size and appearance, but are very different. They're meat eaters. I hadn't expected to see any this far east before, but here they are."

"Are they vicious?" Sparhawk asked.

"Very."

"Khalad." Sparhawk nodded toward the edge of the trees.

"Right, my lord," his squire said, unslinging his axe. He returned a few minutes later with a dozen lances.

"Quick work," Belgarath complimented him.

"It's my job." Khalad shrugged.

Sparhawk was beginning to make out a few more dark bodies amongst the trunks of trees. He hefted his freshly cut lance, placing the butt in his stirrup. Faran shifted his weight, almost unconsciously preparing for battle.

"We'll start out slow. We want to meet them on open ground, with plenty of charging room," he said to the seven knights and Talen. "If they don't engage, neither do we." He looked at Khalad and Stragen who rode in the center with the ladies. "Everyone ready? Let's go."

They set out at a trot. It was soon that Sparhawk discovered this was not going to work. It looked like they would have to fight the horse- beasts after all. He had barely gotten a hasty "Halt!" from his lips when one charged straight at him. Carefully setting his lance he rode towards it, bracing himself. As he did so, he saw that it was definitely not a horse. What is was made him sick with revulsion. It looked like a horse, but its eyes were wild and intelligent. Great fangs dripped foam and its legs ended not in hooves but in sharp claws.

It struck his lance with ripping force, splintering the end. The point lodged itself deep in the animal's shoulder, but still it came at him. Drawing his sword, he tried feverishly to steer Faran to any blindside the creature might have. It had none, however. It followed every move he made, sidestepping the broad sweeps of his blade with almost graceful movements. It slashed its teeth at him, churning the earth at its feet with its claws. Sparhawk was beginning to think it was a stalemate when luck smiled upon him. The Hulgra's foot suddenly came down in a hole. The head twisted to one side and he swung down at it, slicing into the neck with crushing force. The creature fell twitching to the ground, blood spewing from the rent in its glossy neck.

Sparhawk prepared to face another one, but this appeared to be only a small group. He turned to see Vanion and Bevier dispatch another, the Lochaber in the Cyrinic's hands arching high to split the Hulgra's head like a melon. Ulath had taken one down with the first thrust of his lance, and was now aiding Tynian. It wasn't long before that one too was killed. Berit and Talen were busy slicing apart a fifth. Kalten had engaged one farther from the group and was hard pressed. He swung with great overhand strokes at the enraged beast, but to no avail. The Hulgra, a fierce stallion, leapt at him, at the same time slashing with his claws, and the knight was forced to a defensive position. He brought his arm up to protect his face from a particularly close slash of fangs. Kalten was slowing, Sparhawk could see. He spurred Faran forward and began savaging the stallion's hindquarters. The Hulgra turned, his eyes flashing. Enraged, he bit at Faran's face and neck. Kalten took the advantage and plunged his sword into the heaving chest of the brute.

"Thanks, Sparhawk," Kalten said. He looked at his arm. Deep scratches broke his armor here and there. "That could have been a lot worse," he commented.

"Still it doesn't look good. Sephrenia should look at it."

The Styric woman was busy wrapping Berit's wrist. "Are you alright?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Just sprained," the young knight assured him.

"Anyone else?" Sparhawk asked Sephrenia as Kalten dismounted before her.

"Tynian aggravated his hip injury and Talen got a rap on the head, but nothing serious." She bound Berit's arm in a sling and turned to Kalten. It was actually not as bad as Sparhawk had thought, and soon they were ready to start out again. "If you need a break, we can stop," he assured Tynian.

"Don't worry about me, Sparhawk," Tynian said. "I'll be fine." He flashed him a quick grin.

Sephrenia rolled her eyes. "_Elenes_."

Belgarath got a strange look on his face, but said nothing.


	10. The capitol of Algara is the A

Author's note: By popular demand...namely cause everyone jumped down my throat for it...I have given chapter 9 a title. I was hoping for a short fic but I guess I'm going to have to come up witha lot of witty titles. sigh

Chapter 10

The next day they turned from the trees and the dangers that lurked there. They headed straight north. After a few miles they crested a rolling hill and Sparhawk got his first look at the Stronghold.

"Are we that close?" he asked Belgarath incredulously.

"No. We're still two days away."

"You're not serious!" Berit exclaimed. He had slipped his arm out of the sling Sephrenia had cautioned him to wear and now the band of cloth hung ineffectually around his neck.

"I couldn't be more."

"God, it's huge," Bevier breathed. "You say that's their entire capital city contained in that?"

"It's their only city."

"Internal food and water supplies?"

"Of course."

"I could hold that for…" He did some calculations in his head.

"Eight years," Belgarath told him. "Probably a lot longer than that, but that's how long it took Torak to give up." The old man's voice changed then to a rather stuffy-sounding monotone. "The Stronghold of the Algars is one of the most unassailable land fortresses in all the world, not because of any difficulty in the surrounding terrain, but simply because of the unbelievable height and the thickness of its walls. Because those walls reach higher then the tallest trees, scaling ladders cannot be built to permit assault over the top of them, and because the walls are thirty feet thick, no siege engine can breach them."

"That was enlightening," Sparhawk said sardonically.

"The History of the Empire of Tolnedra, the Third Borune Dynasty. The Tolnedrans were excellent historians. A bit biased in some respects, but dependable."

They seemingly crawled on toward the man-made mountain for the rest of the day. The next morning they continued. It was about midday when another strange occurrence greeted them. A hawk with bright gold bands across its tail glided in and landed in front of them. Belgarath held up his hand and they all halted. "Hello, Durnik," he said to the hawk. The bird shimmered for a moment, then standing in its place was a rather nondescript man with plain brown hair and a ruddy brown face. "I take it Pol got my message."

"Yes. I was watching for you from the top of the stronghold." He looked startled. "You have wounded."

"We ran into some Hrulgin that strayed from Ulgoland on our way here," Belgarath told him. "Nothing too serious. I don't think you need to bother Pol with it." Durnik nodded. "This is Sir Sparhawk, the one I told you about. The lovely blonde girl there is his wife, Queen Ehlana, and that is their daughter Danae." Durnik bowed somewhat stiffly. Belgarath introduced the others.

"Pol would have come down herself," Durnik apologized, "but she and Queen Silar had to stay."

"How is Cho-Hag?" Belgarath asked him as they pushed their horses into a walk.

"Not very good. He's very weak, and his heart is giving out. Pol says he's just too old."

"That's one of the drawbacks of age."

"If you'll excuse me, I'd better tell Pol you're here." He shimmered again and the hawk rose into the air with a swirl of wings.

"Does everyone here turn into an animal?" Sparhawk demanded.

"Actually we're relatively few in number. You just have the pleasure of meeting us all at once," Belgarath said. "We can pick up the pace a bit."

They moved at a trot now, the stone walls of the Stronghold looming closer with each passing minute. It took them only an hour more to reach the great doors, which stood open. As they entered the vaulted opening, Sparhawk could see that it was more of a tunnel than an actual archway, a massive stone tube. He almost forgot they were actually still outside.

At the end of the tunnel- like entrance two people were there to greet them. The man, Durnik, and a raven-haired woman. Sparhawk was struck to the core by her. She was very tall, and one lock at her left brow was snowy white, a sharp contrast to the rest of her jet-black hair. He looked more closely at her, and his breath caught in his throat. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He was ashamed to admit it, but she struck him as almost more beautiful than Ehlana. It wasn't that she was more handsome; it was that she carried her great beauty in an entirely different way. This woman had a grace that had been worn for what seemed like many centuries. And her eyes - they were like no eyes he had ever before seen. They surpassed blue. They were not the simple azure of her gown, but something deeper, a violet that now seemed as wild as the night sky when savage spirits would have their way, when storms threatened, when lightening flared and thunder crashed. Indeed, they were eyes to challenge even the mighty gods, eyes that new no threat of mortality, eyes that defied and dared, that cried out their own victory.

_Have you been reading bad Lamork poetry again, Father?_ he heard Danae say mockingly in his mind. The raven haired woman took one look at them all, then turned her eyes on Belgarath. "What have you been up to, Father?" Her tone was so similar to Danae's that Sparhawk blinked.

"Me?" Belgarath protested mildly.

A tall, rangy man in black leather strode up to them. "These must be the people you told us about, Belgarath." The man's head was shaved, except for a flowing black scalp lock tied at the end with a beaded leather thong.

"No, Hettar, they're somebody different. Who else would they be?"

"They look like Arends."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Kalten demanded.

"You can leave your horses here," Belgarath told them, dismounting. They all followed suit and more fierce, leather-clad men appeared. The one called Hettar reached for Faran's reigns then suddenly stopped.

"Oh no you don't, my old man," he said to the horse. Faran looked startled. "Try it and you'll find I bite back." He led him away.

Belgarath turned to the raven haired woman. "This is my daughter, Polgara. You've already met her husband, Durnik."

Sparhawk and the others bowed respectfully. "Please follow me," she said, politely, but curtly."This is not a good time, but I hope we can get to the bottom of things as quickly as possible." She led them to a side passage that turned into a staircase.

Sparhawk looked back. "Who was that?" he asked Belgarath as they followed Polgara through one of the doors.

"Who?"

"The one who took my horse."

"Hettar is Cho-Hag's and Silar's adopted son."

"I don't know what you think I'm going to do, Father," Polgara said as they walked up more stairs.

"This is very important, Pol, as well as very dangerous."

"Well, I'm rather busy now with something of extreme importance to me and most of the known world. Although when has that ever mattered to you when you wanted something. Ah Adara," Polgara said to a radiant brown-haired woman in the hallway at the top of the stairs. "Could you please take the ladies somewhere they can rest comfortably? They all look a bit travel weary."

"Of course, Lady Polgara," she said. She held out her hand to Ehlana, Danae, and Sephrenia.

They all appeared hesitant. Sephrenia made to protest but Vanion cut her off. "Go ahead, dear," he said. "You do look a little drained."

"We all need rest," Sparhawk said to Ehlana. "We can talk later."

Belgarath looked around when the ladies had left. "Let's find somewhere a bit less public." He led them into a comfortable chamber draped in rich green and brown.

"What exactly is going on?" Polgara asked him. "You certainly got out of your lazy summer setting in a hurry."

"You've heard about the Bear Cult stirring in the northern kingdoms again?"

"Is that all you're worried about? You bothered me with _this_? I wouldn't loose any sleep over them. They're still the same mindless bumpkins who were at it before."

"Yes, but this time they have Angarak bumpkins."

"That's absurd. The entire ideal of the Bear Cult is anti-Angarak."

"Show her the pictures, Sparhawk."

Sparhawk produced the sketches. Her eyes widened as she looked at them. "This can't be." She looked up at Sparhawk. "How do you fit into all of this?" she asked him.

He told her of the assassination attempt and of the search. "Then about a week ago, we woke up to find ourselves in the Vale, as I now know it to be called."

She looked back at the sketch of the claw markings and glanced sideways at Sparhawk, noting his black hair and angular features. "It could be a clever Angarak ruse," she said darkly. "But it seems too far-fetched."

"They have five bearskin tunics, and he carried red gold."

She shook her head. "This is unexpected, mainly because it's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible, Pol, you know that."

She put the sketches down and sighed. "Why me?" she said in a small voice.

"What was that, Pol?" Belgarath asked, grinning viscously.

She glared at him. "I have a very urgent problem on my hands gentlemen, and here you come with another. I think your problem can wait," she said to Sparhawk. "I apologize for any inconvenience."

"I have no wish to cause you undo hassle. We will gladly stay out of your way," Sparhawk told her. He hoped his wife and daughter would be as accommodating.


	11. Seeing things through skycolored orbs

Chapter 11

"Poppa, Poppa, watch me!"

Garion watched with a smile as Polanna, his five-year-old daughter seriously tried to do a handstand. She almost made it, but as she swung her feet up the skirts of her gown fell over her face and she toppled backwards with a squeal. Laughing, Garion walked over to her and righted her.

The royal family sat at a picnic on a hill behind the city of Riva. The day was warm, and a cool breeze ruffled the long grass around their feet. Ce'Nedra had taken one look at the weather and proclaimed today a day of rest for herself and her husband. "After all," she had persisted, "you don't have any pressing business today, and you are within easy reach of the palace if any emergency comes up." Kail had agreed with her, and the basket was packet and the city was at their backs before Garion could protest.

It had really been a good idea, Garion decided. Silk had left the day before to continue his business, and he had slumped back into his melancholy almost before the Drasnian was out the door.

He sat back, cradling Polanna in his lap as he watched Geran and Beldaran tossing a bright red ball back and forth while Wolf heartily tried to get it away from them. One toss from Geran's hands sent it sailing over his sister's head. She gave him a dirty look and fetched it, scolding him all the while. When she returned, she threw it at him rather hard. She missed and hit the basket. It tipped, sending the remains of their lunch cascading across the grass. Garion saw a flash of blue and jerked as the Orb of Aldur began to roll down the side of the hill. He started to get up, but Geran said, "I'll get it, Father."

"Why did you bring that thing, Geran?" Garion demanded.

"After the number of times it's been stolen, Father?"

"It's perfectly safe in Riva. That why the city was built in the first place. And how did you get it off my sword?"

"I-" Geran looked at his mother for support. She put her hands on her hips. It looked rather odd since she was still sitting. Then she began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Garion asked. Geran also began to giggle. He turned around to find four year old Geanne placing wide blades of grass in his hair. Garion caught her with his free arm, and he, Geanne, and Polanna fell into a grassy heap.

"Geran, stop that," Ce'Nedra said, still laughing. He was trying to juggle the ball and the Orb. "Just put it away. And keep it away from your sisters."

"Yes, Mother." Looking at Wolf, he laughed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Mother."

She rolled her eyes. "I swear. Living with you all is going to drive me insane."

"Father says the Mrin Prophet was insane," Geran said excitedly, putting the sullenly glowing orb back into the basket. "He says they had to chain him up like a dog. Isn't that right, Father?" He paused. "I wonder what it would be like to be insane. If you went insane do you think they'd chain you up, Mother? I think they would, don't you, Father?"

"That's morbid," Ce'Nedra scolded him. "Talk about something else."

"I got a letter from Unrak."

"Oh? That's nice. What did he say?"

"He said he was telling his friends that he could turn into a bear and he wanted me to do something dangerous so he would. He told me to write him back and tell him when I wanted to do this dangerous thing so he could show them."

"What did you have in mind?" Garion asked him.

"_Garion!_" Ce'Nedra cried.

"I wasn't actually going to _do_ it, Father."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Just that everyone there was well. Terzie got married last spring. And, oh, they've been seeing signs of the bear cult again, but nothing serious."

"Maybe I should ask Belar to tell them to go away for good. Maybe they'd listen to him." Garion stood, setting Geanne back on her feet, and stretched. Looking out towards the city he saw a horse and rider approaching. "Oh great," he groaned. "Here comes Kail with something that requires my immediate attention.

"I don't think it is Kail, Father," Geran disagreed.

"It does not smell like Kail," Wolf said.

As the rider neared, Garion began to make out the horse. It was a chestnut, and the rider was a blonde young man.

"It's Eriond!" Geran cried. "Wonder what he's doing here."

"Hello, Belgarion," Eriond said when he reached them.

"Eriond, Horse. What are you doing here?" Garion asked a scant second before Ce'Nedra, with a streak of red hair and a flash of feet was on Eriond, flopping him backwards into the grass almost before he had dismounted.

"How are you? Are you eating well? You look pale. Have you heard from anyone else?"

"Hello, Ce'Nedra." His voice was slightly muffled by her small body.

"I have some important news from Belgarath." He continued as he stood, helping Ce'Nedra to her feet. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but it's kind of important."

"News of what? I didn't think Grandfather was involved in anything now."

"He wasn't, but I sort of needed him to be."

"Does it have anything to do with the bear cult?" Garion asked with a sinking feeling.

"Yes."

"We'd better go back," Garion said, picking up the basket.

"I had no idea the Bear Cult would do something like this. It doesn't make any sense."

"In a kind of perverse way it does, Garion," Ce'Nedra told him, pulling the pictures across the table to her. They sat in the library with Eriond and Kail. Garion had gone through every book and prophecy he could think of, and was beginning to think he should just start randomly pulling ones off the shelves to search them. He idly wondered if the answer lay in the Rivan Fishing Records. "They've never had any luck with any of their plans before."

"But the whole point of the Bear Cult is to unify Aloria so it can stand _against _Angaraks."

"Garion, look at who you're friends with. Do you really think that Urgit and Zakath are a threat to Aloria any longer? The Bear Cult evidently doesn't, and they seem to only see the unification part of their commission. Those two concepts have bred in their fevered minds and the offspring is this." She pushed the sketches away from her.

"They're probably still pretty sore about the way they were treated at the end of the War of the West," Kail suggested. "What you and the Alorn armies did to Rheon was a major blow to them, and they really had nothing to do with the abduction of your son, even though they pretended they did."

"They _did_ try to kill Ce'Nedra," Garion pointed out. "And Geran."

"But they failed. They know something like that won't work again. This time they're going to try something completely different and they're including you on their list of things they need to clean up. In their eyes you stand as a barrier to the ultimate coming together of Aloria."

"It's taken a long time for many of the Angaraks to recover from the loss of Torak," Eriond said sadly. "Especially the Grolims. It's been quite a few years, but the loss of one's god is something titanic. Some still refuse to speak to me." He sighed. "I've still got a lot of work to do."

"What I don't understand is how does this Sparhawk and his people fit into all of this?" Garion asked, rubbing his chin.

"I don't know, Belgarion," Eriond said.

"Maybe some Grolim hiccupped in the middle of his incantation or something," Ce'Nedra suggested wryly.

Garion's hand froze. "It could be possible."

"What? What I just said? I was joking."

"I know, but it might just be closer to the truth than you think."

"Could you do something like that?" she asked him.

"I wouldn't know where to start. But if this indigestion riddled Grolim was trying to do something else and it backfired," he paused thoughtfully. "I'd have to talk to Grandfather about it, but the idea's not a bad one. Say this Grolim is trying to do something to further the cult's new plans. I shudder to think about what. Something somewhere goes awry, or he doesn't know as much as he though he did and, and 'poof' here are all these new people from somewhere else."

"It seems like the next step," Kail said, "is to get in touch with Belgarath and speak to Sparhawk in person. Find out everything they know."

The door opened then and a servant came in. He wordlessly handed a note to Kail then left. Kail's face was bleak as he read the note.

"What is it, Kail?" Garion asked him.

"It seems like we have a reason to go to the Stronghold, anyway," he said. "King Cho-Hag has died."


	12. The chapter that has very little in it

Chapter 12

The mood of Sparhawk's companions was somber as they gathered in the chambers he shared with Ehlana and Danae. It had become their meeting place the last few days, since it was centrally located as well as the largest. They sat silent for a time, looking with furrowed brows at the walls, the carpet, and one another. Death was tragic to all of them, even the death of this unfamiliar king. It was obvious by the faces of Polgara and the royal family that Cho-Hag had been dearly loved, and that his death was going to be a blow to most of the known world. Sparhawk also could tell that many of them had seen demise in the near future, due to the illness that the man had suffered.

Beside him Ehlana sighed, and hung her head. "It's all so sad," she said softly. "Lady Polgara has been busy attending to the family since it happened, but I can see that she grieves deeply as well."

"She is a very strong woman," Sephrenia agreed. "I almost wish we would have been here sooner. There might have been something I could have done to help." She raised her eyes to Danae and Sparhawk saw his daughter shake her head slightly.

"Styric magic would probably have been no help, Little Mother," Sparhawk told her, "if Lady Polgara's half as strong as people say. I was talking with Hettar's son, the crown prince now, I guess, and he said that Polgara had done everything possible. I get the feeling that possible for people like Polgara means a lot more than it does for people like us."

Ehlana sighed heavily again. "Chin up dear," he told her. "I'm sure the family and Lady Polgara will be fine."

"It's not that, Sparhawk."

"What's the matter?"

She looked at him and with a straight face said, "I didn't bring a black gown."

The next day, four days after the death of King Cho-Hag, the first of the neighboring Kings arrived. Sparhawk stood with Belgarath, Polgara, Durnik, Hettar and Queen Silar at the great gate of the Stronghold as the King of Arendia approached. Two men in armor and a beautiful pale woman rode at the front. One of the men was obviously the king and the woman wore a gold circlet. The other knight, Sparhawk noted, looked, oddly enough, a lot like Bevier. On the other side of this knight rode a young man in subdued greens with a longbow slung across his back. He also had his wife at his side. Sparhawk was struck by the honor and devotion stamped on each face, even those of the ladies. He was also slightly worried by the lack of anything else there, including sense. Somewhat behind them rode a strange looking short man. His hair was completely white, although he did not appear that old. It was hard to judge his age, however, because he had a strip of cloth bound across his eyes.

"Korudullin," Belgarath greeted the king as the man dismounted

"Divine One," Korudullin replied. "My Lady," he nodded, "Goodman. Your majesties," he greeted Silar and Hettar, "My heart hath been heavy since mine eyes hath read the news of the illness that hath lay our beloved friend and ally low. I pray that you find comfort in these days of woe, and that this may be sent behind us into that great realm of history and shall not linger to trouble out hearts and minds. For well we all doth know how beloved our fellow monarch was in life, and how like a father we all looked upon him, even as thou didst, and still dost." Belgarath made strangled noises next to Sparhawk and Polgara's eyes seemed to glaze. Korudullin opened his mouth again as if to continue but Silar spoke before he could.

"Thanks you so much for coming, Your Majesty. And all of you." She turned. "Won't you all come in and rest from your journey?" The request seemed sort of formal and unnecessary, but Korudullin and his companions seemed to thrive on formalities.

Sparhawk kept himself somewhat in the background during this exchange, not wishing to intrude. "And who is thy companion, Ancient One?" the knight with black curly hair asked. "He doth look mighty and formidable. Methinks he be a knight. Am I right, Sir-?"

"Sparhawk," the big knight answered for Belgarath. "I am Preceptor of the Pandion order of Church Knights, and the Champion of the Queen of Elenia."

"I am sure thou art the mightiest knight on life, my lord." He paused. "Alas mine own charge, the great Queen Ce'Nedra, named in the stars as the revered Queen of our dear World doth inhabit the fortress at Riva, which, unfortunately, doth stand many miles north of here."

"This is Sir Mandorallen, Sparhawk, a Mimbrate Knight," Belgarath said. "The archer is Lelldorin, an Austurian."

"Pleasure to meet you." The younger man with the bow stretched out his hand, grinning at Sparhawk with complete trust. "The beautiful lady in the green gown is my wife Ariana." Sparhawk did not need the description to tell who the young man's wife was. The lady was staring at her husband with undisguised adoration. Sparhawk was quite certain that she would walk through a wall of fire if she had to to be able to look at Lelldorin so.

"Alas," Mandorallen said again, "Mine own beloved lady must needs remain at home, for an injury hath robbed her of her ability to ride." His eyes actually shone with tears.

Belgarath jumped in then. "This is Relg," he said, indicating the short man with colorless hair and a cloth over his eyes. "From Ulgoland." He looked around. "Where's Taiba?" he asked him.

Relg frowned. "She's at Prolgu with the old Gorim and the other children. He didn't think she should travel this close to her time."

Belgarath laughed. "Mara wasn't kidding when he said he wanted you to repopulate Maragor. I didn't think he wanted you to do it all by yourselves but it's beginning to look that way. Why did you go back to Prolgu?"

"The Gorim summoned Telbe for training and religious instruction." Relg smiled slightly and pulled the cloth from his eyes, squinting against the sun. "I still have trouble realizing how blind I was to the words of UL. My son is growing up in both religions and he is doing remarkably well. I have many hopes for him." He smiled at Sparhawk with pride. "Telbe is my oldest son. He will inherit the title of Gorim and bring my people glory."

Sparhawk smiled politely.

"Please come inside, all of you," Silar said. They filed in behind her, once again traveling through the massive domed passageway of the gate.

The next day other monarchs arrived. Sparhawk greeted these people blandly, cautiously, feeling more and more like he was intruding. In the morning the king of Tolnedra arrived, a man so like in appearance and mannerisms to Vanion that Sparhawk was startled. Even his name, Varana, was similar. Sparhawk watched him closely. The man moved and spoke more like one of long military service than one suited to wear a crown. He realized that this was much like himself and felt an instant connection to this soldierly king. He made a note to speak with him later.

During the noon meal, as they all ate quietly in their rooms so as to not disturb the household at this time, Polgara came to see them. She wore a blue gown that seemed simple against her regal blue eyes. Sparhawk noted a slight expression of jealousy flash across Ehlana's pale features.

"It seems you've settled in well," Polgara said by way of greeting. "Silar wanted you to know that she appreciates your desire to be distant but that it is unnecessary, and would like to request your presence at dinner tonight. The funeral is set for tomorrow and she would also like you to be there as well."

"We do not wish to intrude," Sephrenia told her.

"Well, we wish you to intrude. Besides it will be a good opportunity to discuss what has been happening in the world, and in yours as well, with all the figureheads of the western world here in one place."

"Makes sense," Vanion approved.

"Garion and the others should be here by tomorrow." She turned, and her features softened slightly. "Don't worry. I've faced far worse and I'm sure you have. Things straighten themselves out in the end."

Sephrenia stood and looked at Polgara. They were very similar in appearance, although Polgara was a full foot taller than the petite Styric. "We all have to die sometime," Sephrenia said. "But as a physician it still feels as if you've failed in something."

"I'll see you all at dinner," Polgara said.

Bevier had a troubled look on his face as she closed the door. "Something wrong, Bevier?" Tynian asked.

"No," the Arcian knight replied. "It's just that whenever she talks to me I feel the strangest sense of calm, as if I've just completed a long prayer."

"And?"

"And it troubles me since I know nothing of her religious background. For all I know she is some raving heathen, and yet she stills the spirit."


	13. If you can't join them, beat them up

Chapter 13

Sparhawk stood once again with Polgara and the others watching the approach of the remaining monarchs. He had not objected this time to standing with the family and friends. He was almost eager to meet King Belgarion. He felt a strange connection to The Overlord of the West. This man was very similar to him. Belgarion had killed a god; he had felt the force of power greater than himself flow through his mind, body, and soul. Images of the mighty king in flashing armor brandishing a flaming sword popped into Sparhawk's mind. He realized how asinine that was, and then glanced at the Arends. He decided that to make any judgments at this time would be premature.

The morning was foggy and the mist gave the surrounding grasslands a surreal quality, turning the stronghold into a lighthouse in a vast sea of grey-green waves. Sparhawk heard Polgara straighten beside him. "He's here, Father," she said quietly. "I can see the blue glow of the orb approaching."

"Honestly, the boy needs to learn to control that thing, or he'll never be able to go anywhere unannounced." Belgarath wiped at his sleeves as if trying to rid himself of the trailing fog.

Sparhawk strained his ears to listen for any sounds of approach through the prevailing mist. Finally he could hear the click and creak of saddle and the hoof-beats and heavy breathing of horses. The next thing he heard was a woman's voice. It was so similar in timbre and quality to Ehlana's that he started. "Are you sure you can't do something about this accursed fog?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, dear, we don't do things to the weather," came a man's voice.

"I know that. But just a breeze wouldn't hurt much. Just enough so that we can see where we're going."

"I can see where we're going, Ce'Nedra. And we're there."

Sparhawk blinked as heavily cloaked riders appeared suddenly out of the wall of fog. There were quite a few people in this group, more than he would have expected. He scanned the crowd before him. He could easily pick out at least two kings, one with a slightly dented crown above bushy graying black hair, the other a round, smaller man also with a crown. A third much younger man sat with a regal bearing on his horse beside a woman who appeared to be his mother. The resemblance was striking. A petite red-haired girl rode in front with a non-descript man of middle years. Sparhawk could tell right away she was royalty. Her companion looked neither regal nor striking, but he did wear a large sword strapped across his back.

Silar looked around at them all. "Thank you for coming dear friends. Please come inside and rest from your travels."

As they dismounted, the plain looking young man walked over and clasped hands with Hettar. His eyes were filled and he said nothing. The others greeted the royal family similarly. Once they were all within the walls of the stronghold, Sparhawk began to study every face in detail. He noticed that the red haired girl was not a girl but a woman, and very fine-featured beautiful woman whose coloring seemed almost unnatural. As they were led to a chamber, Polgara walked close to her and the ordinary looking man. "How have you been, Garion?" he heard her ask as she slipped her arm in his. Sparhawk's eyes narrowed, he should have guessed.

"I've been well, Aunt Pol," the man said. "I am a little concerned about the antics of the Bear Cult, but I still don't have a lot of information." He stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the sword he wore. "Stop that," he muttered. The blue stone on the pommel flickered almost petulantly and went out.

"I can provide you with some right now," Belgarath said from Sparhawk's other side. Belgarion turned. "You'll be formally introduced at dinner, but I'd like you to meet Sir Sparhawk. May I present King Belgarion, Overlord of the West."

Belgarion's eyes narrowed slightly and he tilted his head warily. The action reminded Sparhawk somewhat of one cagey wolf sizing up another. The big knight suddenly found himself at a loss of what to say. He held out his hand. "Nice sword." He grimaced. How foolish.

Belgarion took the hand warmly. "Pleasure to meet you, Sir Sparhawk," he said with a smile. It was painfully obvious that Sparhawk was not a people person, but Belgarion's politeness rode right over it. "This is my wife, Her Imperial Highness Queen Ce'Nedra." Sparhawk took her hand and slowly kissed it. She blushed rosily, then a strange look crossed her face.

"Garion," she said, "the orb is glowing, again."

"Odd," Belgarath said. Belgarion unhooked the strap across his chest and swung the massive sword into his hands. A perfectly round blue stone on the pommel pulsed with a life-like radiance.

"Stop that," Belgarion said again to it. "There's nothing here for you to get excited about." The stone actually looked sullen, but it faded into grey blankness. Belgarion moved on. "These are my children."

Sparhawk's throat caught when he saw the crowd of children behind Belgarion and his wife, but he quickly pushed the emotion from his face. The oldest, a boy Sparhawk guessed to be about thirteen or so stood straight-backed in the presence of so many other monarchs, every inch a crown prince, but the next youngest, a girl about nine or ten surpassed him in regality. She looked exactly like her mother.

"Father!" Sparhawk heard suddenly from behind him. As if on cue, Princess Danae came flying down a hallway at them. "I thought it might not be a bad idea for me to start doing some of these things, so I'll know about them when I'm-" she stopped suddenly when she saw the Crown Price of Riva. She jabbed a finger into Sparhawk's ribs. "How dare you let me be so undignified in front of royalty!" she hissed. Instantly she transformed, smoothing out her gown and holding up her nose. Sparhawk sighed and shook his head. He caught Belgarion's eye and the younger man gave him a knowing look. Sparhawk cleared his throat. "My daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Danae of Elenia."

Belgarion tried to hide a smile as he said, "My son, Crown Prince Geran of Riva." Geran bowed slightly awkwardly, but Danae's curtsy was elegant. Geran's sister snickered. "Beldaran!" Ce'Nedra scolded under her breath. The she turned to her husband. "We will see each other again at dinner. I don't know about you, dear, but I could use a little freshening up before then."

Belgarion looked as if he were about to object, but decided to say nothing.

"Don't worry, Talen," Danae was saying as they headed for the main dining room.

"I'm not worried," Talen told her, slightly too fast. His voice had developed into a rich deep baritone, yet he refused Sparhawk's suggestion to join the Pandion choir. "I have no reason to be worried of a child, prince or not."

"Child!" she cried. "He's the same age as I am, older in fact. Do you really think of me as a child?"

Talen bit his lip. "Don't answer that," Sparhawk told him. "Mind your manners," he said to Danae.

"Of course, Father."

"I wish I had my red gown," Ehlana lamented beside him.

"I think you look lovely."

"That's sweet, Sparhawk, but if what you say of the Rivan Queen is true, then it would have been better if I had worn red." She plucked at the velvet of her cream and gold brocade dress. Sparhawk decided to stop trying to understand.

The dining room was high ceilinged and hung with great gold tapestries of horses. The central table was round, rather than long, and Sparhawk rather liked the idea. In short order the royal families were all announced and seated at the great table. Ehlana and Danae sat on Sparhawk's right, and King Belgarion on his left. Sparhawk found himself looking across at Lady Polgara and Durnik. Beside them sat Vanion and Sephrenia. The others were similarly intermingled.

"It appears that Aunt Pol and Lady Sephrenia are enjoying themselves," Belgarion said. The two ladies were deep in discussion. Vanion and Durnik were also talking. Sparhawk looked more closely at Durnik. He seemed so plain and unpretentious, yet he fit into this group of kings and sorcerers so well.

"Your Majesty," Sparhawk began.

"Please," Belgarion said quickly, "just 'Garion'."

"What profession is Durnik? He does not appear as stately as the rest of us. Is he perhaps a squire or servant to one of you?"

"Durnik?" Belgarion spluttered. "A servant? Of course not. He's my oldest friend, and Aunt Pol's husband. He's also a disciple of the God Aldur."

"He doesn't appear all that religious."

"That's just how he wants it. Actually as to his profession he's a blacksmith." Garion paused. "He looks to be getting along rather well with your Lord Vanion."

"He sort of reminds me of Kurik," Ehlana said from Sparhawk's right.

"Kurik?" Garion asked.

"My squire, and a close friend of mine. He died." Sparhawk still had trouble talking about it.

"Oh I am sorry," Garion said. "I can sympathize. Durnik died too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a long story."

"Please tell us of your friends," Ehlana suggested.

"Well, the big one with the red hair is Barak, the Earl of Trellheim. The Arend with the gleaming armor is Sir Mandorallen. I think you would get along rather well, Sir Sparhawk." Sparhawk smiled politely. "The other Arend is Lelldorin."

"We've met," Sparhawk said, his smile souring into a grimace.

Belgarion laughed. "I know what you mean."

"Who's that talking with Stragen?" Danae asked.

"That's Silk-ah Prince Kheldar of Drasnia. His cousin is Kheva, the King." Garion pointed to the young man sitting with his mother.

"What are Drasnians like?" Ehlana asked.

"They're a really devious sort of people," Queen Ce'Nedra answered, a trifle disapprovingly, Sparhawk noticed. "They're all spies."

"Spies?" Sparhawk asked with a sudden lurch. He looked back at Stragen, and then back to Kheva and swallowed. Talen was deep in discussion with the young king.

"Oh dear," Ehlana murmured.


	14. When in doubt, consult your outer child

Chapter 14

The state funeral was held the next morning in the Temple of Belar. It was positioned at the eastern side of the stronghold, and had large stained-glass windows that faced the rising sun. Garion tried not to look at the scarred iron shutters that could cover those massive windows in times of war. Instead he looked at the faces of his friends, and his new friends from Elenia who had been invited to the funeral. Garion was glad they had come. They seemed very religious, although they did not worship Belar. Indeed, they had introduced themselves as Church Knights.

The ceremony was simple for the burial of a King, but still very moving. The old priest of Belar that had officiated at Rhodar's and Brand's funerals so many years ago had followed them into death, and the new, much younger priest was very devout. At one point in the ceremony Garion could hear a very quiet voice behind him. He half turned and noticed one of the Church Knights, tears streaming openly down his face, praying softly. Garion was touched by the prayer, even if he didn't know to whom the black-haired knight was praying.

After the service, Garion gathered with his old friends. It was good to see them all again, even under the circumstances. They talked of unimportant things for a while, then Barak got serious.

"We've been seeing an alarming resurgence of the bear cult in Cherek recently," he said to Garion. "There's been some new faces, and some have been members of the court and high officials. Anheg is getting pretty worried."

"The same sort of thing is happening in Drasnia," Silk said. "It's keeping Kheva on his toes."

"We heard about Javelin," Barak said.

"And what's worse is I received word from my brother and he has found a pocket of the Cult in Cthol Murgos as well."

"What?" Hettar exclaimed. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I have seen evidence of it too," Garion interjected. "I think I should ask Sir Sparhawk and his people to join us."

"I can go get them, father," Geran offered. Garion had decided that it was time for Geran to begin joining them in situations like this. He nodded and Geran left the room.

"He's growing up so fast," Silk said.

"Don't say that, Silk," Garion groaned. "It makes me feel so old."

"It makes _you_ feel old?" Belgarath grimaced.

Geran returned a few moments later with the church knights. Suddenly the room was full of large men. Ce'Nedra took one look at the assembly and left with Ehlana and Danae in her wake. Once the rest had found seats it wasn't quite so bad, but Garion still felt he was standing in the middle of a dense rock quarry.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "I think we can dispense with formalities now."

"Good idea," Sparhawk agreed. "The main thing is to get to the bottom of this."

"The logical place to start is where you're from and how you came to be here," Polgara said.

"My companions and I are form the various Kingdoms of Elenia, located on the continent of Eosia. As to how we got here in your country, I have no idea. We just woke up here one morning."

"We suspect foul sorcery is involved," Sephrenia said. "On your side or ours we have not yet been able to determine."

"What do all of you have to do with the Bear Cult?" Silk asked.

Wordlessly Sparhawk produced the pictures. Mandorallen gasped. "Surely not!"

"On top of that, attempts have been made on the lives of Sephrenia, and others of her race because of these letters, which those men carried." He laid the letters on the pictures.

Garion picked up one letter. "It's in Angarak, all right."

"And they had a fair supply of good red gold," Belgarath stated. "I destroyed it immediately. Sir Sparhawk here was becoming a little too fond of it."

"Someone obviously wanted us here for some reason," Kalten said.

"That's an assumption," Durnik objected. "The only logical thing we can say for sure is that by some act on the part of someone with enough power, whether accident or not, you are here."

Garion looked at Belgarath. "Has Aunt Pol seen these yet?"

"No, I haven't," Polgara said. Garion silently handed one to her. Her face did not change expression. "Idle threats."

"I don't think so, Pol," Belgarath told her. "This situation is radically different from anything we've seen before. It's way beyond what the Cult is capable of alone. The idea of an Angarak in the Cult is totally unthinkable, yet there is the proof."

"I've been threatened before, Old Wolf."

"Yes, I know, but whoever is behind this must be very powerful and we have no clue who he is." He gestured toward Sparhawk and the others. "He managed to conjure them with a mistake. Imagine what he might be capable of when he's actually competent."

"I swear, Lady Polgara, as God is my witness, I will not let you come to harm," Bevier said. Sephrenia rolled her eyes.

"Nor will I," Mandorallen intoned. "By the mighty arm of Chaldan, thou shalt stay safe."

Polgara sighed, looking at the almost identical knights. Durnik patted her arm, although his look was also grim. "The thing to do now," Belgarath said, "is to figure out who is responsible for all of this."

"That's a pretty tough order, Belgarath," Barak said. "We don't even know who sent these letters."

"The twins are nosing around in the Angarak kingdoms as we speak. Hopefully they can find some trail of this person there."

"I'll keep in touch with my brother," Silk said.

"Eriond, you also stay alert for anything."

"Why would I want to do that, Belgarath?" Eriond said with a slight smile. Garion lately had noticed a change in Eriond. He saw that the young god was developing a slightly sardonic sense of humor that was so subtle it had grown unnoticed until now. Garion was seeing more and more of Durnik and Polgara in Eriond all the time, but now he was also starting to see some of Silk and the others as well. He smiled. Eriond had learned from them all, apparently.

Belgarath gave him an irritated look.

"Let's give Silar and Hettar the end of the week, Father," Polgara said. "I'd like to stay at least that long, and I'm sure Garion and the other kings would appreciate it."

"Alright. It will give us all time to get familiar with each other. I'll gather as much information as I can in that time, though, and plan for starting out in five days."

The rest of the day was spent quietly. Sparhawk decided to explore the fortress to a greater extent. As he passed the kitchens he heard a familiar voice.

"This is really good. The beer we get at the motherhouse is rather watery and warm."

Sparhawk poked his head through the door. Kalten sat at a long oak table with Tynian and Ulath, as well as Silk and the towering Barak. He looked up and raised his arm. "Sparhawk, come join is."

"Ah, no thanks. I'm actually looking for Belgarath, have you seen him?"

"He left to go check on something in the Vale. He said he'd be back by tomorrow morning," Silk told him.

"Thanks," Sparhawk said and left. He stood outside the door for a moment frowning at the floor. He hadn't really been looking for Belgarath, but Sparhawk liked to know where the person in charge was in case of emergencies. Although, he thought to himself, his position might be a little biased because the person normally in charge was Ehlana.

As if his thought had summoned her, the blonde Queen of Elenia came down the corridor, arm in arm with Queen Ce'Nedra. Although Ce'Nedra was probably ten years older than Ehlana she was a whole head shorter. In spite of the age and height difference, though, they appeared to be getting along quite well. Sparhawk smiled at their giddy friendship.

"Sir Sparhawk," Ce'Nedra greeted him as they passed. He watched them make the corner behind him. Ehlana threw him one sly glance as they disappeared, then giggled wickedly.

Sparhawk continued walking, although he was beginning to get bored and was thinking about turning back to see if Kalten and the others were still in the kitchen, when he came across young Princess Beldaran ahead of him. Her back was to him, and she was obviously spying on someone. She was half bent over, peering around a doorway. Sparhawk smiled slightly and backed up against the wall behind her. He waited, trying to make out the voices in the room. Suddenly Beldaran jumped up and spun around. She gave him a startled, guilty look, then fled past him. Sparhawk looked back at the doorway in time to see Berit step out. He looked confused. "Are you spying on me?"

"Ah…no." Sparhawk decided not to tell the handsome knight about his young admirer.

Garion was tired after the day. He sat on the bed he shared with Ce'Nedra watching her perform her nightly ritual. He smiled at the coppery sheen of her hair as she smoothed it with a brush, and imagined running his fingers through it. One of the things he loved most about his wife was her hair.

He had noticed in the past few weeks, especially in the last couple of days, that Ce'Nedra had been almost deliberately keeping herself from the center of the action. This was not irrational, but it was unlike her. He wondered why, and toyed with the idea of asking her. As if sensing his thoughts, she turned around and smiled at him. He laughed slightly. "I'm sorry," he said, noticing how wolfishly he had been watching her.

"I'm used to it. Besides, I don't mind an audience. Especially one as adoring as you." She put the brush down and rose. Gravely she came over to him and sat on his lap. Garion put his arms around her slight frame. She was hardly bigger that Beldaran. Garion buried his nose in her neck and inhaled the scent of her hair. She giggled. "You may have to shave twice a day," she said, rubbing his chin where a day's worth of stubble had cropped up.

"I am an Alorn after all."

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes twinkling, "but you're also…ticklish!" She dug her fingers into his ribs.

Garion fell over backwards with a whoop, grabbing for her hands. He gasped for air around the fit of laughter. Suddenly he heard a strange but somewhat familiar noise. He sat up. "Wait," he told Ce'Nedra. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That's what I thought." He stood slowly and looked at the door that led to Geran's apartment.

"What is it, Garion?" she asked nervously.

He reached the door and opened it.

Geran sat on the bed. His face was very red and he held his hands behind his back. Garion raised an eyebrow at his son. "Geran, did you do that?" Garion asked gravely. Geran looked guiltily up at him. He nodded. "What are you hiding?"

Geran swallowed hard. Slowly he withdrew a very lopsided yet realistic spider. Ce'Nedra grimaced at it. "I was going to put it in Beldaran's room," he said in a small voice.

"Go on to bed, Ce'Nedra," Garion said, finding sternness difficult with the fit of elation welling up inside of him. "I think I can handle this."

She smiled at him and returned to their room, closing the door behind her.


	15. Truth is not Wisdom

Chapter 15

The next morning Garion woke sandy eyed and vague. He had spent most of the night up with Geran, teaching him the basics of sorcery. Garion was still thrilled. He had been afraid, with the necessity for them over, that he would be the last sorcerer. Evidently the situation still required one. That thought sobered him a bit, but did nothing to stem the flow of pride.

As he often had in his youth, Garion found himself at the door to Polgara's room. He looked at it, wondering if he should go in or not. He knew he would not disturb them since the sun was already up, but he wondered exactly why he was there. He shrugged and began to turn away when a voice from inside stopped him. "Don't just stand there in the hallway, Garion."

He opened the door. "Good morning, Aunt Pol."

"Good morning, Garion. You look tired. I wondered who was making all the noise last night." She smiled. "You and Geran have a very similar sound, you know."

"Did Durnik already leave?" Garion asked.

"He went somewhere with Sir Sparhawk's squire. I think they're inspecting things."

As he often had as a child, Garion sat on the floor at her feet. "Aunt Pol, I was so ready for something to happen. In my mind I wanted something to do."

She just looked at him.

"What do they want?" he demanded.

"Who dear?" Almost unconsciously she started smoothing his hair.

"The Angaraks."

"I don't think they even know." The door opened and Belgarath came in.

"Garion, what are you doing on the floor?"

Garion got to his feet. "Well, Father?" Polgara asked.

"Nothing." He plopped into a chair and pulled a flask out of his pocket.

"You shouldn't be drinking this early. Was there possibly anything hidden anywhere that even remotely mentions something like this?"

"Not one phrase. I would have even settled for something nonsensical. Everything ended when Zandramas turned into galactic glue." He raised the flask to his lips. "It's good for my rheumatism."

"You have never had rheumatism." She rose and almost absently removed the flask from his hands.

"Did you hear from the twins?" Garion asked.

"They were in Rak Hagga when I got ahold of them," Belgarath said, pulling another slightly smaller, dented flask from deeper within his clothes. "They hadn't seen anything unusual except for a rise in the Alorn populace down there. That seems to fit with everything else, but it's not exactly hot topic information."

Garion looked towards the window. "Well, then-" he stopped. A man's face was there. He had lank blonde hair and was pointing a small crossbow right at Polgara. Garion gathered his will, hoping it would come soon enough. Suddenly there was a faint surge, then a metallic snap and the man disappeared with a despairing shriek. The three rushed over to the window. Polgara and Durnik's room was four levels up, but they could still clearly hear the solid thud as the man hit the ground. Durnik and Khalad were standing about five feet from the crumpled body.

Durnik shook his head. "He should have had an extra safety line."

"Why can't they get it right," Belgarath sighed.

"I'm going to go find Hettar and find out how this fiend got that close," Garion said.

When the reached the body, a small crowd had gathered. Polgara strode up to Hettar. "He looks like an Alorn," the rangy Algar said.

"Are you alright?" Durnik took Polgara's hands.

"I'm fine, dear. That was very neat." From around the side of the building Sparhawk and the others approached. The man on the ground moaned.

"He's still alive?" Hettar said incredulously.

Belgarath knelt at the man's side. "Talk," he said curtly.

The man's eyes were glazed with pain, but were wild and white with religious fanaticism. When he spoke it was in a voice not his own. Garion knew that voice. He had heard it before, when it had spoken through Torak's lips "We have been wrong all these centuries. Woe to the non-believers for the Bear hath shaken the veil of deceit from His eyes. Soon He shall take his place by the side of the Dragon and the Brothers shall be victorious over those who walk in darkness. The Wolf-Witch's power is strong, but she cannot defeat the combined mights of Aloria and the Kingdoms of the Dragon. The evening of her trickery and deception is over and we shall see the light of dawn in the years of the Bear and the Dragon." Suddenly he lunged at Polgara, but his broken body finally gave way and he died with a gurgle.

They all sat staring at each other for a moment. Sparhawk looked from Belgarath to Polgara. "What was that?"

"That," Belgarath said, standing, "was a dark prophecy. Or at least part of one." He frowned. "I wish I could have written that down."

"How many copies do you need?" Talen said, holding up a worn sheet of parchment, wet with fresh ink.

Belgarath blinked at him. "Finally someone who is useful. Very clever, boy. Let me see that." He took the sheet. "It's even legible."

"He does a lot of writing for the Pandions," Sparhawk informed him. "He's also the one who did all those drawings of the assassins. He's always got parchment and ink on him somewhere."

As they walked back into the Stronghold Garion felt a sense of unease. Unconsciously he walked closer to Polgara. "Don't worry, Garion," she said.

"I can't help it, Aunt Pol. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

"You're such a nice boy," she said, fondly touching his cheek. She turned to her father. "Apparently these misguided idiots are believing that once they get rid of me they can unify Aloria with the Angarak Kingdoms. From what this man said about the 'Dragon' at least a few of them believe that Torak either isn't dead or that he will return."

"Even if this is genuine prophecy that is complete foolishness," Belgarath said. "Torak is dead. In fact, he is very dead." Still Garion's heart went cold as ice. He had defeated Torak once, but that did not lessen his fear of the dark god, nor did it guarantee he could do it again.

That afternoon Silk left on an errand for the Drasnian intelligence service. Garion and the others saw him off. "Hunter wants a word with me," was all he would say.

"Isn't hunter dead?" Garion asked him.

Silk just looked at him. "My you do move fast, don't you," Belgarath commented.

"It is very important that no one knows where I am going, Belgarath," Silk told them as he swung up on a fast Algar charger. "I trust I can have faith in you to keep it to yourself."

Polgara raised one eyebrow. "So secretive, Kheldar?"

"It is necessary I'm afraid. Now if I delay any longer it could be disastrous. I'll see you all as soon as I can." And with that, he spurred his horse into a fast run.

Sparhawk looked at a map. "It's going to take him a while to get to Drasnia and back. Can we afford to wait that long?"

"He's probably not going to Drasnia," Belgarath told him. "Hunter could be anyone anywhere. Barak could be Hunter." The red-bearded Cherek looked startled. "Nobody knows who Hunter is. Except the chief of Drasnian Intelligence. And Hunter of course."

"And you?"

"I don't. I know where Silk is going, but I don't have the faintest idea who he is going to see." He looked at Stragen's narrowed eyes. "And no amount of anything you pay me is going to make me tell anyone."

"What?" the thief said innocently.

"And no I'm not stupid enough to write it down."

Stragen actually looked disappointed.

Sparhawk spent the rest of the afternoon in his room thinking hard. Now they had the answer they had originally sought out, but it opened up many new questions, and now he and his companions were God knows how many miles from home with no idea of how to get back. The possibility struck him that maybe they could not, but he pushed that to the back of his mind, determined not to be pessimistic.

The door opened and Kalten walked in. He sat in the chair next to Sparhawk and stared moodily into the flames. Sparhawk looked at him. Kalten hardly ever was moody. You could always tell from his face what was wrong with him. The last time Kalten had looked like this it had been because he had thought Alean didn't love him. Sparhawk suspected that his friend's wife was again the cause for the morose look on Kalten's face.

Sparhawk poured him a glass of wine. Kalten took it and downed it in one gulp. "I imagine that your problem is similar to mine," he said. "Only yours is slightly more keenly felt."

"Why did I leave her, Sparhawk? Why didn't I do the right thing and stay home?" He looked up. "Am I a bad husband?"

"No, Alean told you to go. Besides, what makes you think we won't be going home?"

"I don't see how it could be possible. I mean we don't even know where, or even when we are."

The concept of time had not even entered Sparhawk's mind. He thought it ugly and pushed it also to the back. It was getting crowded back there, he noted. "I'm sure Sephrenia can figure something out. And you and I, everyone else, for that matter, we're not totally helpless. Besides, we have all these sorcerers."

Kalten brightened a little. "I never thought of that. Thanks, Sparhawk," he said, pouring himself another glass of wine.

Danae entered then. Trailing behind her was Princess Beldaran. Beldaran curtsied to the two knights. "Hello, Father," Danae said. "I want to talk to you."

"Should I leave?" Kalten asked.

"No you can stay," she said, blinking at the suddenly immobile Kalten.

Sparhawk frowned. "Danae," he said. "You can't just go around freezing people. And what about her?"

"Oh it's ok, Sir Sparhawk," Beldaran said. "My Father can do stuff like that easy. I'm used to it."

Danae winked at him.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I think you should tell Polgara about the dream you had the night before we woke up here."

Sparhawk had almost forgotten about it. Now it came back to him with startling clarity. Danae went on. "Apparently Belgarion had a similar dream the same night."

Beldaran nodded. "I heard him tell Mother about it."

Sparhawk frowned. "Interesting," he murmured. "Did you discuss this with Sephrenia?"

"I thought I'd talk to you first," Danae told him.

"Well I should probably tell her too."

Danae nodded. She looked at Kalten and blinked. "Thanks, Father," she said and left with Beldaran still following her.

Kalten looked confused. "Did I miss something?"

"I don't know. Danae just came to ask me if she and Beldaran could go horseback riding outside," Sparhawk said, thinking fast.

"Really?" Kalten looked bewilderedly at his wineglass.

"Maybe you should lay off, friend," Sparhawk told him, rising. Kalten picked up the bottle and was reading the label as Sparhawk left.


	16. Shared Pain is lessened

Chapter 16

"You're sure one of their hoods was purple," Belgarath asked him.

Sparhawk nodded. "I couldn't see their faces very well, but he seemed to be in charge of the others."

"Why didn't you tell me of this before, Sparhawk?" Sephrenia asked.

"I guess I just never thought about it."

"Dreams are pretty important to someone in our particular position," Polgara informed him.

"I've never had prophetic dreams before. In fact I rarely ever got nightmares as a child," he disputed.

"I can't imagine you would have," Sephrenia told him. "Being Anakha."

"Anakha?" Polgara asked.

"In Styric it means 'One without Destiny'."

Polgara looked at Sparhawk queerly. "How remarkable," she murmured. "It's a very interesting concept to live outside of the pull of fate. I'm sure Garion would envy you." Her voice sounded almost as if she herself did. She sighed. "Garion had a similar dream that same night. It appears that there is a Grolim High Priest involved, probably close to the top."

"This makes things very dangerous," Belgarath said, "but it also gives us a view of what the power structure is of the other side. Apparently the Angaraks have subverted the Bear Cult with some nonsense or another, which is not a difficult thing to do." The old man looked Sparhawk in the face. "The next time you have a dream like this, tell somebody. You could have saved me and the twins a lot of digging."

The door opened then and Garion came in. With him was the young god Eriond. "Hello, Belgarath," he said. "Polgara."

"Have you found anything?" Belgarath asked.

"Yes I have. I poked around in Mallorea and paid Zakath a visit. There have been no incidents similar to what has been happening here in the Eastern kingdoms. It seems that the Grolims are Murgos." He frowned. "There shouldn't even be Grolims anymore." The he brightened. Sparhawk had noticed that Eriond was quick to change tone. "Their child is very beautiful and Zakath and Cyradis are very happy."

"That's good," Belgarath grunted. "I was worried that we would have to make a huge trek again. Now it appears only a moderately large one."

The next evening Silk reappeared, haggard and drawn and with a slightly worried look about him. Hettar spoke with him firmly about the condition of his horse when he pulled up to the gate. The wiry little man waved him off and immediately sought out Belgarath. The two shut themselves in a room until quite late. Garion sat up waiting to hear anything from either of them. He didn't think they'd tell him anything, but he _was_ King, after all, and he felt he deserved to at least try.

He was half dozing in the hallway when he heard footsteps behind him. He tensed slightly. Turning he relaxed when he saw it was just Sparhawk. "You're up late," he greeted the big knight.

"You too. I couldn't sleep."

"That seems to be going around." Garion sat up and stretched his shoulders. "I'm actually waiting to see if I can get any information from Grandfather or Silk."

"Are they usually this secretive?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Not really and that kind of worries me. I know Silk would rather not give away Hunter's identity, but whatever else he learned is obviously rather important. Why don't you stick around? Maybe between the two of us we can persuade them to let us in on it at least."

Sparhawk sat down next to Garion. He didn't ask why the King was sitting on the floor. He realized as soon as he was down that this was probably a mistake. He began to plan an ascent that would keep his dignity, and his knees intact. They sat in silence for a time before Garion spoke. "So, what's it like being a knight of the church?"

Sparhawk had not expected the almost childlike question from Garion. Once he actually thought about it, he found it difficult to formulate an answer. "It's complicated," he said finally. "Not in the physical or mental side, although those are pretty tough." He paused again. "I guess it's the religious aspect of it."

"You didn't strike me as a man of religion."

"I never quite came to grips with the sense of God that other knights, like Bevier, have." He frowned. "I'm beginning to think that I've spent more time around other people's gods than my own."

"What's your god like?"

"Distant," Sparhawk said, echoing the first word to enter his mind. "I mean, I believe he exists, but I just can't feel close to him." He thought of Danae, and for some reason felt guilty.

"I'm a little unsure which god I should be close to," Garion told him. "I was raised by my Aunt Pol, uh, Lady Polgara, so I feel like I should worship Aldur. But by blood I'm an Alorn, half Alorn, anyway, and I think that Belar deserves at least some of my devotion, and now there's Eriond. I don't even want to think about how he fits in."

Sparhawk could tell the subject of gods was slightly painful for Garion and he believed he knew why. He took on his best advisory tone and offered the younger man a moment of empathy. "How much do you know about me?" he asked slowly.

"Very little," Garion answered, realizing he should've been more interested in their new companions. "I've been pretty distracted lately."

Sparhawk told him of Elenia first, and of his world. Then he began to describe the gods of Styricum. Garion smiled. "I see you have a similar problem to mine."

Sparhawk looked at him directly. "It goes a little farther than that. One Elder God was named Azash. He was totally and utterly evil. Bent on power and destruction. He corrupted people, to their very souls."

"He's not still around, is he?" Garion asked, his voice hushed.

"No."

"What happened to him?"

"I killed him."

At those words Garion's eyes first widened then seemed to shrink. His brows pulled together in an expression that was not a frown, but of deep contemplation. Sparhawk could almost see a floodgate of emotion open in him, an emotion that was now shared. "I know the story of Torak and what you had to do," Sparhawk continued. "Even if I felt no sympathy for Azash, I still felt remorse for killing a god."

Garion suddenly thought of Zedar and then wished he hadn't. "On top of it all, what happened to Torak's disciples was horrible."

"We did some pretty horrible things to Azash's worshippers, too," Sparhawk assured him, "although not as awful as the things _he_ did to them." He shuddered as he heard again the sounds of Annias and Lycheas being torn apart by the dying god. "Maybe it's the similarities of our peculiar positions, but I noticed that you carry the victory over Torak not as a badge but as a wound."

"It shouldn't be a badge," Garion murmured, leaning back against the wall.

"Then let it heal. Scars are visible, yet give no pain."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Garion said "Thank you. No one has ever given me as much comfort on this subject as you have in the last five minutes."

"Shared pain," Sparhawk grunted, made slightly uncomfortable by the emotion in the air.

"What was that?"

"Something Kurik said once. 'Shared pain is lessened, shared joy increased.'"

Garion sat up and looked at him. "Sounds like something Aunt Pol would say."

"What would I say?"

Both men jumped, Sparhawk reaching to his side for his sword belt, even though he wasn't wearing it. "Aunt Pol!" Garion gasped. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"I wasn't at all sneaking, Garion." She walked up to them as they stood. "You should both be wearing robes, you know. What _are_ you two doing in the hallway this time of night?"

"We're waiting for Grandfather."

She frowned at the door. "Are they still in there?"

"They haven't come out since I've been here, and unless there's a secret passage out of there…"

They all looked at the closed door. "Maybe they fell asleep," Sparhawk said. Polgara and Garion exchanged looks. Her eyes went distant for a moment and Garion felt the slight breath of her seeking mind. Then she rolled her eyes and looked intently at the door latch. He felt the surge of her will and the latch clicked. Garion blinked in surprise to discover that the door had actually been locked.

When they entered the room, Polgara sighed at what they saw. Silk was draped across a chair, one arm propping up his chin. His long nose twitched as he snored softly. Belgarath lay with one elbow crooked under his head. His other hand held an empty tankard. Polgara shook her head. "Go to bed gentlemen. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to enlighten us in the morning." Sparhawk held up his hand. Careful not to wake the old sorcerer, he slid a piece of parchment from under Belgarath's elbow. On it was written a single word.

"What is that?" Garion asked, his voice hushed.

Sparhawk squinted at it. It looked familiar. "It's Styric, I'm sure of it."

"Lady Sephrenia's language? But that would make it from…"

"From my world." He looked at them. He set the paper back on the table. "It can wait until morning," he said, looking at the sleeping forms. "But not much longer."

Note on this chapter: The quote "Shared pain…increased." Is from _Callahan's Crosstime Saloon_ by Spider Robinson. It always seemed to me like something Kurik would say. Just givin' credit where credit's due. –DTF chan


	17. Message in a bottle, I mean pocket

Chapter 17

"It's pronounced _Ulgasdemna,_" Sephrenia informed Sparhawk and the others the next morning. "It is the Styric name for the most powerful forces of a world- the forces of the earth, air and water, even the people. That someone here would know it much less have it written is absolutely staggering."

"Apparently you have more to do with this than just happenstance," Polgara told them.

"Obviously," Sephrenia said. "I've suspected that no one could do something this big totally by accident."

"You'd be surprised," Belgarath murmured.

"So where does this put us?" Ehlana asked. "Does it get us any closer?"

"Yes," Polgara said, at the same time Sephrenia said "Not noticeably." The two women looked at each other. "What makes you say that?" Polgara asked her.

"My countrymen are not to blame. I still believe this is all unintentional."

"I never said it wasn't. I think that whoever is after me knew about this Styric power and wanted to tap into it."

"So," Belgarath continued, "He reaches out for it and grabs you instead."

Sparhawk heard a gasp behind him. He turned to see Danae, her face pale, her hand to her mouth. She had obviously just realized something.

"Something wrong, dear?" Ehlana inquired.

Danae smiled blandly. "Hiccups. Excuse me." _I need to see you later, Father._

"I'll get you some water," Geran offered. Talen's face darkened.

"Why thank you, Geran," Ce'Nedra said.

"May we continue?" Belgarath demanded.

"What else did you find?" Sparhawk asked Silk.

"The man Hunter lifted this parchment off of was a Nadrak thief. A very unreliable group of people."

Stragen opened his mouth as if to say something, but Sparhawk waved him into silence. "The paper was in a bag of gold coins. It's very unlikely that the Nadrak even knew it was there," Silk continued.

"So it's going to be impossible to tell where it came from," Kalten said dejectedly.

"Not necessarily," Belgarath contradicted. "I still have some tests to subject it to that may bring out anything useful. Ale stains, old ink, even the kind of parchment it is."

"Sorcery?" Berit asked somewhat excitedly.

"Why does everyone think that when I'm going to do something in the way of tests or experiments that it has to be through the will?"

"Another solution of salts, Father?" Polgara asked.

"No," he answered somewhat sheepishly. "I actually was going to use sorcery, I just don't like everyone to assume that I can't do things in the normal way too." He held his hand over the paper, frowned and muttered something. The paper remained unchanged. Belgarath's frown deepened, and he muttered something different. The paper began to smoke slightly.

"Don't set it on fire, Father."

"I know what I'm doing, Pol." He flattened the paper between his palms and whispered again. This time the paper changed color slightly, darkening. "Aha," he declared, removing one hand. "Parchment of this size comes in stacks. Often people will write on the top of the stack. The pen will imprint on the next parchment in the stack ever so slightly, leaving a depression in the shape of the letters."

"And?" Sparhawk asked.

"We might not know who wrote this, but we can tell what was written right before it." He held it against the glass of the window. The lighter outlines of letters shone clearly. "It's in Angarak alright."

Silk squinted at the paper. "What's that at the bottom?"

Belgarath held it closer to the window. "It looks like a seal."

"Would that have left an imprint?"

"Quite possibly." He ran a finger over it.

"It's my brother's seal," Silk exclaimed.

"Urgit?" Garion said. "Why would he write a Styric word?"

"Maybe he didn't," Polgara told him. "But someone close to him did."

"Well," Belgarath said, "someone close to his paper."

"What does it say?" Tynian asked.

Belgarath leaned closer to the paper. "'Ulgatesh, if you are reading this, it means I made my delivery. Urgit is getting suspicious. He's starting to nose around like the mangy Alorn half-breed cur he is. I might have to take more desperate measures that I had intended, but it would not be wise for me to move from this position at this time. Ulfgrim is not happy with the situation all around, but I believe I can handle the blinded Kings. Especially Urgit.

"I am trusting Garnev with this letter. He is fully aware of the consequences if it goes awry. I believe this makes him reliable. I will be in touch with you further.'" He paused. "There's no signature. I assume that the seal is supposed to identify the writer to this Ulgatesh."

"At least we have names," Garion pointed out.

"A lot of names. I think we can assume that this Garnev is somebody's messenger boy. That makes him relatively unimportant. At least right now."

"That name sounds familiar," Durnik said quietly.

"What, dear?" Polgara asked him.

"Ulfgrim. It sounds familiar for some reason." His eyes widened. "Ulfgar! Remember the leader of the Bear Cult that Garion and I put to sleep during the battle of Rheon?"

"Didn't he turn out to be a Grolim?" Garion asked.

"This is starting to fit together," Belgarath mused.

"There's definitely a similarity in name," Barak observed. "But that doesn't mean any relationship. It could just be coincidence."

Durnik smiled fondly at him. "When, in either of our lives has there been the tiniest coincidence?"

"Well," Barak responded, "I'm just glad to be participating. I was very put out at Cyradis for telling me to go to my room and stay there last time."

"I agree with thee, my friend," Mandorallen put in.

"Still, there are an awful lot of us," Sparhawk pointed out. "We'd have quite an entourage."

"There's only twenty-five of us or so," Garion said. "Think of it as a small squadron of knights."

Sparhawk had no argument to that.

"As much as I wish our new friends well," Relg put in, "I desperately wish to return to Taiba and the children."

"Go, dear friend," Garion exclaimed.

"Of course," Vanion agreed. "We have no desire to separate anyone from their families or business."

"If any of you apologizes one more time for anything remotely related to this situation, I'll hang him up by his bootlaces," Belgarath informed them. "We know you don't want us to bother. The fact is that you _need_ us to bother."

Vanion actually looked sheepish at that.

"Maybe we should ask Cyradis what this is all about. She helped a lot last time," Silk suggested.

"You forget, she isn't a seer anymore," Polgara told him. "She's a wife and a mother."

"No need to put anyone else's life on hold," Sephrenia agreed.

Garion sighed. "What is it dear?" Polgara asked him.

"So much trouble over one little mistake that this Grolim probably didn't even know he made."

"Mistakes, if overlooked, often cause big problems to other people that have nothing to do with the original situation," Durnik said. "I worked for a very arrogant landowner for a time in my youth,"

Silk groaned. "Another story Durnik? Is there someone in this world that you haven't worked for?"

Durnik looked directly at him. "Yes. You. Anyway," he continued,"this landowner had discovered a fertilizer that would keep insects and grubs from eating into his prize crops. The problem was, what he made this compost out of, and the actual process of making it left him with a lot of fluid waste. This he dumped into the fast moving river behind his house. One day a fisherman knocks on his door with complaints that the fishing downriver had declined. Apparently the fish were dying. The landowner said, 'It's my land, and I have a right to use it how I please.'"

"Does this have a point?" Kalten asked.

"Everything has a point, Sir Kalten," Durnik informed him, somewhat stiffly.

"Be quiet," Sparhawk told Kalten.

"This landowner seems pretty brainless," Garion said.

"It was the same man that built the well in his house."

"How long was it until his house collapsed?" Khalad asked, trying not to laugh.

Durnik smiled. "About two days." He turned to Kalten. "The point is, the landowner didn't even know the fisherman was there until the fisherman knocked on his door."

"Yes, I got that much."

"But the fisherman didn't know the _landowner_ was there until the fish started to die."

Kalten stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded. "I see," he said. "But we are smarter than the fisherman in that we know that the Grolim is there and that no one has died."

"Not necessarily smarter," Polgara said, "but certainly faster."

"So what happened?" Talen asked eagerly.

"I don't know," Durnik told him. "I followed the fisherman home and after a while the fish stopped dying."

Polgara looked at him sadly. "I always wondered why you liked fishing so much."

The meeting began to break up after that, with the various activities of saying goodbye. "Sorry, Geran," Garion told his son, "I want you to stay here with your sisters. Silar has already promised me an Algar escort to see you safely back to Riva."

"But, Father," he began.

"No buts. You have to look after your sisters." He leaned close with a sly look. "Besides, who's going to help Kail run the kingdom until I return?" Geran still looked disappointed, but he nodded. "And no more experimenting," Garion told him in a stern voice. "Not until I can help you." He turned to Ce'Nedra. "I don't think I can persuade you to go with the children."

"Not on your abnormally extended life."

"Well," Polgara said. "That's that I suppose. We've been fortunate. We not only have a place to go to, we know what, and more importantly who we are to look for when we get there. I'll go see about getting provisions set up."

"What's that?" Garion asked Silk later that day. The little man was folding up a note of some kind.

"It's a letter to Liselle. I want her to meet us in as soon as possible."

"Will it even reach her before we reach the coast?" Garion mused as Silk saw the message sent with an Algar horseman.

"I'm hoping that it does. I want her with us as soon as possible."

"Why?"

Silk looked at him strangely. "Because next to Hunter and myself, she is the best intelligence gatherer on the continent. Probably in the whole world. Don't misunderstand, Hunter is doing his job, but he can only cover so much ground at a time."

"Aha," Garion jabbed a finger at the Drasnian. "I've got you to reveal the gender of Hunter."

Silk frowned at him. "Not that it's that important. How many males are there in the world? Besides, I could have just been using correct grammar. I might have just as easily said 'she'."

"Technicality," Garion scoffed playfully.

"I am a Drasnian," Silk pointed out with mock pomposity. "We thrive on technicalities." He looked down his long rat-like nose at Garion. "And stop trying to figure out who Hunter is. You don't need to know right now."

"You know, I could take the information if I wanted to."

"Garion!" Silk sounded shocked. "How dare you even suggest such a thing!" Garion waggled his fingers under Silk's nose with a wicked smile. "I knew being king would ruin you, boy. Some people just can't handle royalty. If your aunt could hear you say that."

"What? I'm too old to spank."

"Not to her, I'd wager." He laughed. "I see your sense of humor has returned. I was beginning to think that you were becoming as dour as Belgarath."

"I guess it's all the excitement. It seems like things are supposed to be this way. I guess I just had a bad case of itchy feet."

"You know," came a voice from behind them, "I think Pol may have a potion for that."

"Hello, Grandfather," Garion said turning. "What I meant was I felt like I needed to go someplace and do something big. And here I am. Not the biggest thing I've ever done, but one of the most interesting. And there's no big unpleasant thing to look forward to at the end."

"Not yet," Belgarath grunted. "I've done more of these 'interesting things' than I care to count, and there usually is a big unpleasant thing at the end." He started to stomp past them, but Silk held up his hand.

"What's got you in such a foul mood?"

"Nothing. I'm just finding myself stretched pretty thin, is all. I don't have as many brothers as the Drasnian Intelligence service has members, so our kind of information is not as easy to find as normal people's. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go find Pol."

Silk frowned at the old sorcerer's back. "He's definitely soured of late."

"I think I know why," Garion said with a faint smile. "He misses Beldin."

"So what is so urgent?" Sparhawk asked his daughter as they walked around the roof of the great stronghold. Sparhawk found his daughter preferred high places, although this was higher than any of their meeting places had been in the past.

"During our discussion this morning I realized something important."

"Yes I know that. Are you going to share it with me? Or did you just want to see how small everyone looks from up here."

"Be nice, Father. When Belgarath made that comment about something or someone reaching out and grabbing us, he might have been more right than he thought."

"You mean whoever is behind this could have dragged us here on purpose?"

"No, I still think you were a mistake. Me, on the other hand..."

"What do you mean?" Sparhawk said, stopping and taking her by the shoulders. Even at eleven she was tall and well built. His daughter was no slight maid.

"I mean that maybe they meant to get me. And the rest of you just happened to be there. _Ulgasdemna_ is the power that the gods possess. That's what you borrow when you use Styric magic."

"So what you're saying is that we just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time?"

"Exactly. I don't know if they were after me specifically or any younger god, but they certainly didn't make as big a mistake as we thought."

Sparhawk sat on the cold stones of the rooftop. He felt slightly dizzy, thought from the height or the words of his daughter he was not sure.


	18. Make up your own title for this one

Chapter 18

Belgarath drew a tankard out of a dusty cask, took a long drink, then grunted at his map. "I don't like having to cross most of the world before knowing if it will even do us any good. It's going to take us quite a while to get there."

"Do we have any choice?" Garion asked him. The two sorcerers sat with Sparhawk in a study high in the Stronghold.

"I wish we had another lead. This one seems awfully contrived."

"What do you mean?" Sparhawk asked.

"There's something just a little too pat about the whole thing. It is more than possible, and logically inconvenient enough to be plausible, but something about these clues we have rubs me the wrong way. It's all a little too manufactured."

"I still don't see what the problem is. What's wrong with the easy way?"

Belgarath looked at him sourly. "I have never been able to do anything the easy way. This note with that Styric word pointing so obviously to Urgit is what bothers me. Why would someone on the other side be that careless? First to put any kind of plan in writing, and second to trust it to someone who was obviously not reliable enough to watch his purse."

"You think it could be something like when the Bear Cult tried to blame Anheg for the murder of Brand?" Garion asked.

"I don't think it's quite that malicious this time."

"Maybe just a simple diversion?" Sparhawk suggested. "Maybe all they want is for us to go gallivanting around in Southern Cthol Murgos until they can execute some bigger plan."

"It makes a lot of sense, Grandfather. Why else would someone practically give us the names of their leaders. They knew about Harakan and his alias. And they are giving us this one to draw us in."

"I think we just found the whole problem, gentlemen. But there is a bigger one. What do we do about it? Do we take the bait on the small chance it might be genuine, or do we hunt up another source of information, which will take us who knows how long?" He fell silent.

"What do you think, Grandfather?"

"I think I need another drink."

"Here's the plan," Belgarath told them at dinner after explaining the possibility of a ruse. "We set out for Rak Urga. We'll be going through the Western Kingdoms so there is still time to nose around a bit. The trail may lead to Urgit, but I doubt if he even has any knowledge of what is going on here. We'll cross west here and head for Ulgoland."

Silk groaned. "Through the caves?"

"It's a lot faster than trying to brave those mountains, not to mention all the beasts that inhabit them."

"You don't like caves, Prince Kheldar?" Ehlana asked him.

"Not one bit."

"Why?"

"You don't want to know. You really don't want to know."

"Do you really want to take all of them through Arendia?" Hettar pointed at the Church Knights. "That could be dangerous."

"To them? I don't think so."

"No, to Arendia."

Mandorallen smirked.

Belgarath went on. "Once we reach Vo Mimbre, we can sail south to Rak Urga. It's a long trip, but we don't have much choice at this point."

Polgara looked at her father. "I suppose I know who you are thinking of."

"He's never let us down in the past," Barak boomed.

"Where is Greldik this time of year?" Belgarath asked the big red- bearded man.

Barak thought a moment. "He's taken up freighting furs from Mal Camat to Tol Honeth. If I remember correctly he should be somewhere in the Sea of the West."

"That's a large area based on a slim chance," Polgara pointed out.

"Come on, Pol," Belgarath told her, "he's always been where we needed him before. Maybe Garion's friend still likes us enough to do it again."

"At least he's in the right ocean," Hettar commented.

"I can find him, Polgara," Eriond said, suddenly appearing behind Belgarath. Everyone jumped.

"Eriond, I really wish you would warn us before you do that," Belgarath told him.

"Sorry, Belgarath, I'll remember next time."

"You can find this Captain Greldik?" Kalten asked.

"Sure, I know right where he is."

"Where is he?" Belgarath demanded.

"He is in bed."

"Eriond."

"In The Golden Sheaf Tavern."

Belgarath scowled.

"In Tol Honeth."

"Can you tell him what we need him to do?"

"Of course, Belgarath, but don't you think I ought to wait for him to wake up first? I mean it's only polite."

Silk snickered as Belgarath made strangled noises. "Are you sure you're not part Alorn, Eriond?" Garion asked the young god.

"Honestly, Belgarion, I have no idea," Eriond said with a perfectly straight face. Silk laughed even harder.

"You know, I think he's going to be really good for the Angaraks," Durnik mused.

"Have the crew of _Seabird_ ready as well. I think we'll be more comfortable on two ships," Barak told him.

Eriond nodded.

"Wait," Garion held up his hand before the god could vanish. "Where's Horse? I thought you two didn't want to be separated."

"Sometimes traveling fast like this makes him nervous. He's at home. With Father."

Garion's mind shrank away from the implications of that.

"I'll tell him you said hello, though." And with that Eriond disappeared.

"He's very handy," Tynian observed.

"He kind of reminds me of Flute," Berit remarked, "but without all the kissing."

"Alright," Belgarath said, recovered from his moment of irritation. "We now have a very good plan. And if Eriond holds up his side of the bargain, it will actually work."

"Of course he will," Bevier stated firmly. "It is not good to lose faith in one's god."

"He's not my god," Belgarath said. "Besides, Pol raised him, and some of her stubborn orneriness may have rubbed off."

"This conversation is becoming very interesting, Old Wolf."

"Ah, not really anymore. In fact I've lost all interest in it. Shall we discuss something else?"

"Wise decision," Silk murmured.

Garion spent the afternoon packing. He began to think very hard about Belgarath's attitude. It seemed to fluctuate between the old sorcerer's classic roguishness, and a tired, irritated curmudgeon fretting over every detail. He knew the cause of his grandfather's distemper, and the conversation they had had with Eriond today made him believe he had found a solution. By the time he had packed everything he would need, he felt very good about it. He went looking for Belgarath.

He found him in a quiet chamber talking with Polgara. He stopped when he heard their voices, calm and concerned rather than the usual quibble and spark that ran between them. "I know he would do it, Father, but you have to show him how," Polgara was saying.

"Pol, I don't want to separate the two of you. I don't want to put you through that again."

"It's not like he's going to die. Uncle Beldin practically gave him the position when he left anyway."

"You are being very noble, I think you spent to much time around the Wacite Arends."

"That was a long time ago. I was young and foolish, and I would do anything to get back at you for leaving us. This is different. You need information, and Durnik is a sorcerer now. He has been for some time. He can fill in the hole. He will never replace Uncle Beldin in our lives, but I wouldn't want him to. He can fill his role in our work, however."

"Garion," Belgarath said then, "eavesdropping is a bad habit."

"I'm sorry," Garion said, coming into the room. "I was just looking for you and I heard you talking and I didn't want to interrupt."

"That's nice of you, dear, but you were eavesdropping," Polgara said. "What was it you wanted to talk to us about?"

"I think I have a solution that will make everyone happy, and Durnik won't have to go anywhere."

"What?"

"It seems that Eriond is very happy to help, and I think that in spite of what his brothers think of staying among us he is hesitant to let us go that easily."

"So what you're saying is that he misses us?" Belgarath asked.

"In a way I think he does. And I think that whatever we need him to do he can do. Like going to find Greldik."

Belgarath thought about that for a minute. "He's a lot different from Beldin."

"But I don't think he'll offend nearly as many people," Polgara pointed out.

"There maybe some things that Beldin would have done, that Eriond might hesitate to do, but I think we can work around that. And I doubt we'll have anything that bad."

"And he's just as good at paying attention to detail as Durnik," Garion pointed out.

Polgara's eyes shone. "Thank you Garion. We probably would have come to the conclusion eventually, but this saves all the wrangling back and forth." Then her face changed to one Garion knew all too well. "Are you finished packing? Do you need me to help?"

"No thanks, Aunt Pol, I'm all packed," Garion said with a small smile.


	19. The proof is in the gruel

Chapter 19

The next morning they set out west toward Ulgoland. Hettar rode at the front of the party. Although the rangy Algar was now technically King, the fact that the Algar clans were all nomads made the position almost unnecessary in peacetime. There had not yet been a coronation, if there was to be one at all. No one had even bothered to ask Hettar to come with them, Garion realized, he had just done so. Garion smiled. It felt right, somehow, to be out marauding with his old friends.

They set their tents up that night in the vast sea of grass that spread across the eastern half of Algaria from the Vale to southern Drasnia. Garion helped Durnik out of habit, idly watching the Church nights. When they were finished, he wandered over to them, superficially looking over their tents. Ulath looked up at him, a question in his eyes, but said nothing. Tynian came out of the tent behind the huge Genidian. "Who's turn is it to do the cooking?" he asked absently.

Ulath opened his mouth to give a response, but stopped. He pointed to the central area where Polgara sat by their fire, a pot in one hand, a large ladle in the other. "Hers," he said finally.

Tynian laughed and began to unroll a blanket. As soon as the smell from the stew Polgara was preparing reached them, the Church knights began to cluster around the fire. Garion couldn't help but laugh as Polgara smacked hands back with the ladle. "I greatly appreciate your enthusiasm, gentlemen," she said brightly, waving the ladle like a sword. "I can't imagine the kind of cooks you must have had in the past to make you act this way at a pot of barely adequate stew."

"Wait until tomorrow morning," Silk warned them. The little man was lounging back against a pile of packs near where their horses were picketed. "She'll probably make gruel."

"I was actually thinking of porridge," Polgara said primly, laying out a loaf of dark bread.

"Gruel, porridge, what's the difference?"

"Quite a lot of difference, actually. I could explain it to you if you like."

"No thank you. I may have to eat it, but I don't have to study it."

"You did ask."

"One for her side," Kalten muttered.

"There is a rider approaching," Hettar informed them quietly.

"Where?" Belgarath asked.

"From the north."

"Angarak?" Sparhawk asked.

Polgara closed her eyes for a moment. Then she shook her head. "No. Drasnian."

A few moments later they heard the sound of hoof-beats and a lone rider appeared in the darkening twilight. The rider wore a cloak with the hood down, and her rich blonde hair streamed out in the breeze.

"Good evening," Velvet greeted them.

"You made excellent time," Silk said, taking the reigns of her horse.

"I was actually in a small fishing village on the banks of Lake Atun when you're your message intercepted me early yesterday morning," she replied, swinging down from her horse.

"Oh? So that's where you were this time. I just told Kelvan to send you after us. Were you with anyone?" Silk asked.

"No," she said pointedly. "I was on a job. You know that."

"Is everything ok between you two?" Belgarath asked.

"Fine," Velvet said. "Why do you ask?"

"What have you done?" Polgara demanded of Silk.

"Me? What makes you think that I did anything? She just had to come. I don't know why. Maybe she's here to spy on me."

"Well I am very good at it," Velvet pointed out.

The voice in Garion's head sighed. _I would like Liselle to join us. Is that too much to ask? I find her attitude refreshing and her dimples are quite lovely._

_Would you care to make sense, please?_

_It's true she's not "The Huntress" anymore, but all that went out the window anyway so…_The voice trailed off.

"She's supposed to be here, I think," Garion transferred the message.

"Great," Polgara said, still sounding exasperated. "You'd better behave yourself," she said to Silk.

"'The Huntress?'" Sparhawk asked. Garion had forgotten that the Pandion could hear the voice too.

"Liselle's prophetic name. We all had one. I'm fairly sure they no longer apply."

_Oh, and soon one more will be joining you,_ the voice added in an offhand manner.

"Who?" Garion asked aloud. But the voice was gone.

"Who, what?" Belgarath asked.

"Our friend is being cryptic again."

"One more will be joining us." Sparhawk said.

"Wonder if it's anyone else we know," Barak mused.

That evening, they all spread out around their camp preparing for the long darkness of the caves of Ulgo. The night was relatively warm for late spring, an early touch of the heat of summer. Stragen sat idly plucking the strings of his small lute. Durnik came and sat beside him. "Know any good ones?" the smith asked. Durnik had immediately connected with Khalad, but had almost avoided the other knights. Stragen, although unwholesome in his business practices, was obviously not nobility, and Durnik was beginning to warm up to him as well.

"I know quite a few, Goodman," the thief answered with a thrumming chord.

"Do you know this one?" Durnik asked, reaching out his hand. Garion heard a faint rushing sound and a rather battered, but well cared for lute appeared in his hand.

"Where did you get that?" Belgarath demanded.

"Beldin left it for me," the smith answered with a shrug. Then he began to pick out a strange slow air that flowed from his calloused, burn scarred fingers. Stragen picked up the beat after a few measures and began to improvise a melodic counterpoint with his higher pitched instrument. Durnik began to sing softy in a rough voice, words that Garion could barely hear, and it was to this that the encampment grew drowsy and eventually found their beds. Garion curled up with Ce'Nedra, still hearing the lingering music, almost expecting Aunt Pol to wrap her arms around him and sing him to sleep.

Since it was still late spring in the lower lands, the snows had not yet taken hold in the mountains. The lingering effects of midsummer still clung to the almost reluctantly turning leaves. It took them only another two days to pass through the edge of the grasslands and reach the mouth of the caves that led down into Ulgoland.

"I've surmised a theory," Belgarath commented as he rode, his hands holding the reigns almost indifferently. "The other side sent agents into Sparhawk's world to find this Styric power. The most concentrated form of which is embodied in the goddess Aphrael, am I right?"

Sephrenia nodded.

"So when they tried to pull their men back along with this power, or the goddess herself, they mistakenly got you. So now they are trying to still go on with their plan. I'm not even sure if they have realized their mistake as yet. If the leader of the Bear Cult is an Angarak or an Angarak sympathizer, he may have been enough of a fast talker to convince them again. Let's face it, the Angaraks and the Bear Cult do have a somewhat common enemy. Someone who has thwarted both of them many times in the past."

"You?" Vanion asked.

"No, Pol. They probably realized they aren't strong enough to take out me directly, and they know that if something happened to Pol, everything would fall apart."

Garion knew that if something happened to Polgara, they wouldn't need to worry about taking Belgarath out.

"So we may be riding into a trap," Bevier pointed out.

"I'm almost certain it's something along those lines. But the main point of a trap is the element of surprise. If we know it's a trap, and can recognize it, we might have an advantage over whoever set it. If found that surprising your enemy is the best way to get information."

"Maybe not the best," Stragen said slyly.

"You sound like Sadi," Belgarath told him. "I'm not partial to torture myself, and it still requires an element of surprise."

The cave down to Ulgo was little more then a sloping hole in the ground. It took the better part of an hour to convince the horses and Silk to go down into it. About a hundred feet back from the light, a barking voice reached them from the darkness. "_Takka vekk_?"

"Belgarath, _Ishum veed Ulgo,"_ the old man responded.

"Belgarath? _Veed mo. Yad ho, Groja UL."_

_"Yad ho, Groja UL."_

_"Mar ishum Ulgo."_ A faint greenish light appeared in a bowl held in the hand of a short figure. The man had a cloth around his eyes. He turned and led the way farther into the cavern.

"Let's go. He'll take us through the caves." Belgarath turned back to their Ulgo guide. "_Mar ishum shekka. Arendia veed hadogh."_

_"Arendia? Shek Gorim?"_

"I'll stop by and see him later. We need to get moving."

The caves were dark and in some places wet. But the solid rock exuded none of the mustiness usually characteristic of caves. Sparhawk had never been partial to caves, and he knew that Kalten shared Silk's sentiments about them. He figured that most of his friends were not fond of the enforced darkness and the oppressiveness of stone. Even Tynian's face was anxious in the pale light of the glowing green bowl held by their guide. Sparhawk watched the short white-haired man. He looked very similar to Relg, although Relg was colored dark by the sun. This Ulgo was positively colorless, and once they were far from the light, he had removed the blindfold. He now led them through the blackness with surefooted confidence, although Sparhawk and the others occasionally stumbled.

Their guide seldom spoke, and when he did, it was in short guttural syllables to Belgarath. "Is Relg here?" Barak asked at one point, more to fill the heavy silence than out of any real curiosity.

Belgarath conversed with their guide for a moment. "He returned to Maragor. It seems he needed to help lead some Tolnedrans through the wasteland to the city."

"What?" Ce'Nedra exclaimed.

"Oh you didn't know? It seems Mara and Nedra had a little chat and now whole platoons of the Tolnedran Legions are rebuilding cities all over Maragor."

"Is that altogether wise?" Lelldorin asked. "Won't the Tolnedrans just go after the gold?"

Ce'Nedra sniffed. "No self respecting legionnaire would disobey orders just for a few bits of gold."

"I seem to remember otherwise when you managed to cause mass mutiny among them with a handful of Angarak gold," the Austurian reminded her.

"That was different."

"I take it Nedra gave them all a serious talking to about the whole thing, and I think He managed to convince them to keep their greed under control," Belgarath told them.

"So has Taiba had her baby?" Velvet asked. She gave no hint of unhappiness of her voice, although she had avoided Silk since she joined them. Garion resolved to ask his wife about it.

"Another boy," Belgarath reported after another brief consultation.

"Oh," she said, a catch in her voice. Ce'Nedra handed her a handkerchief.

"What does that make now?" Hettar asked amusedly.

"I lost count at eight," Belgarath admitted with a shrug.

The cavern they stopped in that night was so tall that the ceiling was lost in blackness, but bits of quartz sparkled in the wan light of their fire. Sparhawk noted that it looked enough like the night sky to seriously calm Silk and the others who had begun to get rather edgy.

"What's that odd sound," Kalten asked. Sparhawk had also noticed a sort of humming murmur in his ears that seemed to grow stronger the deeper into the mountain they went.

"The Ulgos are singing a hymn to UL," Belgarath told him. "They sing it on the hour, every hour. The echoes linger for days so it never leaves the caverns."

Their guide had distanced himself from the light of their small cook fire, and supper was eaten and blankets were rolled into with a minimum of speech.

Day and night chased each other outside, but in the caves of Ulgo, night seemed eternal. Time meant nothing as they trudged through the blackness leading their horses. Sparhawk noted that Faran was not too happy with the situation, so he kept a tight reign on the big animal.

They stopped to sleep four times during the seemingly endless caverns, the songs of the Ulgos faintly pursuing them. Then about three hours after they had risen the last time, Sparhawk thought he felt a cool touch of air against his face. Beside him, Silk made an exclamation of joy and, practically dragging his horse, almost ran towards the source. When they caught up with him a few moments later, he was lying on his back beside his horse basking in the sunlight that was streaming across the cave mouth. They all entered the sunlight eagerly, although they squinted against it for a few minutes.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to have the sun shining on my armor," Kalten laughed.

"Where's Belgarath?" Vanion asked, mounting.

"He's saying goodbye to our guide. He had to stay some distance away from the light," Polgara explained.

Soon the old sorcerer joined them and they began to ride west toward Vo Mimbre. As they rode, Mandorallen's humor bubbled almost immediately, and he talked endlessly of the "City of Gold", as he called it.

"Vo Mandor, mine own humble abode, doth lie somewhat to the south of our path," he explained. Sparhawk thought that referring to anything about this man as "humble" was ludicrous. "But that is no matter. For surely my liege, His Supreme Majesty King Korodullin and Her Beauteous Highness Queen Mayaserana shall be brought honor and glory on the day that we doth arrive there. For surely there was never such a concentration of honorable men as this, even in blessed Vo Mimbre." He seemed to have forgotten that they had met the King before. "And never before hath mine eyes beheld a more comely and radiantly stunning assemblage of ladies. Thou art like a cluster of fresh-cut flowers, the center of which is thee, dear lady," he said bowing to Polgara.

"Very well said, Sir Knight," Ehlana told him. "Sparhawk, are you taking notes?"

Sparhawk coughed. Ce'Nedra beamed. "Mandorallen is _my_ knight." She informed Ehlana. "He killed a lion for me with his bear hands when I was no more than eighteen."

Mandorallen actually blushed. "I am somewhat surprised that thou rememberest that, my Queen."

"How could I forget? I tormented Garion with it for a week."

This time Garion blushed. "You never killed anything for me, Sparhawk," Ehlana complained.

"I killed most of Zemoch, Martel and Elron for you. Not to mention your murdering Aunt Arissa, the beast Klæl and the god Azash."

"But I wasn't there for any of that."

"_Women_," Sparhawk muttered.


	20. Two ships leavig in the day

Chapter 20

It took them the better part of the week to reach Vo Mimbre. Garion didn't want to admit it, but he was almost glad to be on an adventure of some kind again. There wasn't the same element of doom this time, but there was still enough of the thrill of the unknown that kept excitement thrumming through him.

Garion watched the Church Knights and their friends as they rode. They all seemed like old friends now, fitting into Garion's circle with surprising ease. They formed smaller groups that Garion knew would be very close. Stragen and Talen had immediately sought out Silk for companionship. Garion couldn't help but laugh at the thought of the indignant letters he would receive from Kheva and Porenn about such fraternization. Then he reconsidered, and thought that maybe they would like the idea. Garion shuddered.

He noted with some amusement that Kalten, Ulath and Tynian were very much Alorns. He didn't know how it happened, but they definitely fit into the good humored, short tempered, rowdies that marked Garion's own heritage. Right now, they rode with Barak and Hettar. Tynian was regaling them with one of his fantastic tales, and Barak's laugh boomed from his red face as he heartily slapped the massive Deiran on the back.

Berit and Khalad had taken to Durnik right away, and they seemed content to discuss obscure ideas with the practical smith. Garion noted that Durnik looked at the two younger men with fatherly wisdom and smiled. He too remembered receiving that same solid, yet subtle, teaching. Bevier rode with Mandorallen and Lelldorin, discussing the differences in their knighthoods.

The ladies were, of course, all together. Garion was somewhat surprised to see the close relationship that seemed to be growing between Princess Danae and Polgara. The Princess was deep in discussion with his aunt. It was easy to forget she was only eleven; she seemed much older.

Sparhawk rode, as usual, somewhat apart from the group. Vanion rode with him, though neither spoke. Garion felt a deep kinship between these men. He noticed that Vanion seemed in appearance to be about twenty years Sparhawk's junior, but he obviously was or had been in the past, a superior, even a mentor.

"Woolgathering?" Belgarath inquired, riding up beside him.

"What? Oh, yes I guess I was, sort of. I was just thinking about how well everyone seems to be getting along." Then Garion thought of something. "Grandfather, do we really need to go into Vo Mimbre? That will probably only delay us, and we just saw Korudullin."

Belgarath scratched at his beard. "You're probably right. I don't think they would let us just day 'Hello, Goodbye.' We'd have to stay for tedious unnecessary ceremony."

"Mandorallen will be crushed. He's gotten so worked up over it."

"Disappointments build character."

Mandorallen was nobly let down when their decision was announced, but quickly recovered. "We'll come in on the south back of the River Arend just north of the Tolnedran border. I'll light a signal for Greldik when we get there," Belgarath concluded.

"Won't a lot of smoke alert a lot of people unnecessarily?" Stragen asked.

"Greldik will be the only one who can see it," Belgarath told him.

"Why did you never teach us anything like that, Little Mother?" Kalten asked.

"I tried, Kalten," she said with a weary look. "I tried."

The next two days were foggy in the mornings. The surrounding countryside was dotted hear and there by distant castles, and the mist gave the scenery a surreal look. By the morning of the third day, the fog had become thicker, and they crested a rise and looked out over the valley containing the River Arend. The stretch of water was shrouded in the prevailing mist, and they could see the glitter of a large city about a mile away on the north side of the river.

"Vo Mimbre," Mandorallen informed them, indicating the city.

"Are the walls covered in gold?" Talen asked incredulously.

Mandorallen looked slightly sheepish. "Nay, Sir Knight. The vast quarries that so freely give us our building stone doth produce only yellow brick. It is very strong, however, and hath stood thus for many centuries. The misty mornings of this fair river doth bedew the walls making them twinkle and glitter like gold. It is as if great Chaldan Himself hath endeavored to make our city beautiful."

"Let's head down to the bank, and I'll signal Greldik," Belgarath said. "I love your countrymen to death, Mandorallen, but I don't want some sentry to see us and insist that we visit the King."

They did that. As they descended the rise, the fog thinned. Sparhawk found himself sweating, although he wasn't wearing his armor. The humidity increased the lower they went, until, when they stopped about a half a mile from the bank, Sparhawk's shirt was very nearly soaked.

"Balmy," Silk observed, sweat dripping from his long nose.

"It can get worse. Sometimes it's like Nyisssa."

"Don't say that, Belgarath."

The fire the old man started was green and sent a column of flame thirty feet into the air. Polgara looked at it critically for a second. "Isn't that a little ostentatious?"

"Like I said, he'll be the only one besides us who will even pay any attention to it."

"I know, but was it necessary to make it green?"

"I thought it would more noticeable than red. Besides, I'm in a creative sort of mood."

About an hour before lunch, two ships appeared from the south. As they approached, Garion could see that they were two large Cherek warships that were all too familiar. Standing at the rail of the nearest were three figures. Eriond, Captain Greldik, and a black robed figure that looked like someone Garion thought he should know.

In short order, Greldik and his two companions came ashore. He clasped hands with Barak and Durnik, and bowed to Ce'Nedra and Polgara. Garion was stunned by Greldik's appearance. "Captain," he asked carefully, "are you sober?"

"Stone cold." At Polgara's surprised look Greldik continued. "I wouldn't have believed it myself, but not four days ago, I wake up to find him sitting in the corner of my room." He indicated Eriond. "Now we all know how I usually greet mornings. With a sour disposition and even sourer ale. But this particular morning as I go to call downstairs for a drink, thinking he must be a hallucination or something, he says to me, 'I don't think you're going to need that.' And I haven't touched the stuff since."

Polgara smiled beatifically at Eriond.

"Are you sure you can still steer sober?" Barak asked his friend.

"I've made it here alright. My crew thinks I've gone crazy but they're all too afraid of him to try anything." He jabbed a finger at Eriond again. "Not to mention him," he went on, this time poking a finger at the robed figure.

"Belgarion, this is Pelath, my first disciple," Eriond said. The figure pushed back his hood. Garion blinked. It was the Grolim that had visited them in the storm in Mallorea when they had been on the search for Geran. He remembered that at that time the man had as yet to become servant to his new God of Angarak. But the years since he had met Eriond had made him look as un-Angarak as possible. His face was split in a broad grin, and seemed to have none of that ascetic thinness that the religious Angaraks had.

"I assume you know what has been happening with all of us," Garion asked Pelath.

"Yes, we have been following Sir Sparhawk's progress since his entry into this world."

"Good. Let's get going then."

They split up between the ships. Sparhawk, the sorcerers, Ce'Nedra, Danae and Ehlana, Silk, Velvet and surprisingly enough Talen, joined Pelath on Greldik's ship. The others boarded _Seabird_. Eriond took his leave of them, and the horses were loaded and the big ships pushed west toward the open sea in a short amount of time.

Sparhawk watched the banks of the river slip by listening to Queen Ce'Nedra's story of how she hijacked every able bodied man in the West to attack the Angaraks. He imagined Ehlana with a massive army at her back. The idea wasn't all that ludicrous, although he was unsure that his wife would need to raise the army in _his_ name. He believed that all she need do was quiver her bottom lip at them and the entirety of Elenia, and probably parts of Daresia would jump to her aid.

Talen came up on deck with Garion, Silk and Liselle. The young Drasnian woman practically ignored her husband. Sparhawk didn't want to pry, but he could tell that everyone else on board was dying of curiosity as to their apparent split.

Talen had, like Sparhawk, removed his armor, and wore the fashionable tunic and hose in black and silver that off duty Pandions often wore. They weren't regulation, but Sparhawk rather liked the idea. He wasn't sure he would go so far as to wear them himself, though. They did look much better on the younger generations. Silk wore a rich grey doublet and a floppy felt hat. This combined with his pointed nose to give him a comedic appearance. Liselle was in plain homespun brown.

Talen joined Sparhawk at the rail, leaning down on his elbows.

"Something on your mind?" Sparhawk inquired.

Talen shrugged. "It's kind of crowded below. I was actually thinking of sleeping on deck tonight."

"What's with the getup?" Sparhawk asked Silk.

"I brought an old friend with me. Radek of Boktor, at your service. Whenever I feel lonesome for old times, I slip on a disguise and remember how much fun it was."

"You never change, Silk. I mean Radek," Garion laughed.

"I kind of liked Radek. He always knew how to treat a girl," Liselle said, not looking at Silk.

Garion remembered something. "Did you ever read Grandfather's History that he wrote right after Aunt Pol's twins were born?"

"I started it. I was sort of busy then." The little man looked guiltily at Liselle.

"Did you know that there really was a Radek of Boktor? He was King of Drasnia at one point."

Silk just looked at him. Then he smiled and laid one finger on the side of his nose. Garion just laughed.

Belgarath came up behind them then, with Polgara and Durnik in tow. "We thought we'd go see what the night life is up to. We're all feeling a little cooped up and felt that a hunt might freshen us up a bit. Coming, Garion?"

"I don't think so, Grandfather. Have fun though."

"A hunt?" Talen asked.

Belgarath winked slowly, and shifted himself into the shape of a fierce looking falcon. Polgara turned into a ghostly snowy owl and Durnik shimmered into the gold-banded hawk Sparhawk had seen before. Then the three of them shot from the deck toward land.

"Wow," Talen breathed. "I wish I could do that."

"Shape change is very difficult, and also very unreliable," Sparhawk told him. "And it's almost impossible to change back."

"I mean the way they do it. So effortlessly. And with no incantations or magic words or anything."

"It requires a word. It's the word that gives the will meaning," Garion said. "And it's not totally effortless. Sorcery is quite a bit more limited than most people think. Also it makes a certain noise."

"Kind of a rushing sound?" Talen asked.

Garion looked astonished. "How can you…" His voice trailed off and he regarded Talen with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Talen stood a little straighter and jutted out his chin at such inspection. "I wonder,"Garion said quietly. "I'd have to ask Grandfather about it."

"What?" Sparhawk asked.

"Nevermind," Garion said. "Nothing important."

It took them another two days to reach the Sea of the West. The salt tang of the sea excited Sparhawk and reminded him of the unknown, impossible coast where they had hidden the Bhelliom all those years ago. He idly leaned against the rail of the ship again and watched the distant coast disappearing in the murky twilight.


	21. Make like a bearskin and hide

Chapter 21

"A lot of people have small latent bits of what we call 'talent', Garion. Who knows if his will is strong enough to do anything."

"That's just it, Grandfather," Garion insisted. "How can we be sure he isn't as strong as you or me?"

"Unless we test it, we can't. Remember Senji? He knew the secret and had the ability, but he was nowhere near as strong as us. He might have become so with a few thousand years of training, but he had neither the inclination, nor the temperament. And there was no one to teach him."

"I wonder whatever happened to him," Garion mused idly.

"He's working for us," Pelath said, entering the cabin. "He's very good at bullying information out of people."

"Really?" Belgarath asked. "That's good. Senji needed something important to do. That turning lead into gold thing really wasn't the most worthwhile occupation."

"I think Eriond might consider him for discipleship soon," Pelath said with a smile. He sat down in a chair across the table from Garion. He squinted at the small cask of ale that sat in front of him. "Is that really any good?" he asked.

Belgarath lifted out a tankard and handed it to him. Pelath took a small sip. Garion expected him to react to it the way any Angarak would when confronted with Alorn brewed ale, sniff, sip, then find the nearest porthole. To Garion's surprise, he smacked his lips thoughtfully. "Not bad," he commented. Garion had a sudden vision of Pelath and Senji sitting side by side, both drinking from tankards of ale. He looked at Belgarath and remembered an almost identical scene of the old sorcerer and Beldin. It seemed things were still repeating themselves, even if only in a small way.

It took them almost two weeks to get to Rak Urga. As they approached the city, Garion looked over to where the Drojim Palace stood in the center of the crooked streets. He laughed. "It seems Prala has decided to make a few changes," he observed, looking at the domes and spires, recently painted a sedate yet attractive grey.

Urgit met them at the pier. "To what do I owe this visit, Captain?" he shouted across to Greldik.

"I bring royal visitors, Urgit," Garion's was not the only title Greldik seemed to disregard.

"Belgarion," Urgit greeted in a surprised voice. "And dear brother. What brings you down here?"

"Oh something in the nature of a family visit," Silk told him with a look that said there was much more.

Luckily the King of the Murgos was as shrewd as his brother. "Do come on to the Palace. Prala will be happy to see you."

Barak gave instructions to the crew of _Seabird_ before it followed Greldik's ship out of the harbor.

"Is it at all possible to skip all those tiresome formal introductions?" Belgarath asked him as they walked their horses along the city streets. "We have some business that requires a certain amount of discretion, if you catch my meaning."

It was obvious Urgit did, but he knew better than to ask about it in the street. "Of course, Ancient One."

When they reached the palace, Urgit rather brusquely shooed his guards away. "This way. There is a back entrance that does not require us to go anywhere near the throne room."

Silk laughed. "You are definitely a Drasnian at heart, brother mine. Back entrance, indeed."

Urgit winked at him, his nose twitching.

The door was little more than a service entrance. They waited until there was no one about, then calmly walked through the door. It entered upon a little used corridor where the carpet was faded and the candles on the walls were very short.

"Quite a large party you have here," Urgit observed as they filed into a faded, yet well furnished chamber some distance down the corridor. "Anything I should be worried about?"

"Actually yes," Belgarath told him, producing the parchment with the Styric word written on it. "Does this look at all familiar?"

Urgit took the parchment. "What is this?"

Belgarath explained the situation to him, glossing over some details, Sparhawk noticed. "We have reason to believe that this is all inspired by the Bear Cult," he finished.

"Angaraks in the Cult. It's unthinkable."

"Well Bear Cult and think have never really been synonymous. But we do have quite a bit of hard evidence, and it seems that the Prophecy is once again involved. I don't think it's as serious as last time, but I think another mistake has been made somewhere."

"I haven't heard any of these names. Although that doesn't mean much."

"Durnik thought that it may have had something to do with a Mallorean Grolim named Harakan. He took over the Bear Cult right after Prince Geran was born, about the time he was kidnapped."

"I seem to remember something about that. You sort of hijacked me to go running around Southern Cthol Murgos."

"He was going around in the north with the alias 'Ulfgar'. Later on he turned up in Mallorea as some Karand named Mengha. Liselle here decided that he didn't need to live anymore."

"Actually," she put in, "it was Zith who did the deciding, and I never thought to ask what she had against the man. It might have been impolite and snakes I hear are pretty sensitive about politeness."

"That alias is very similar to the name of this Ulfgrim. We think it might be a little too similar. Although that may or may not be his real name, and it may or may not have anything to do with leaders of the Bear Cult that were in power over ten years ago. But it seems to line up better than anything else we've found, and I like to move fast. Our investigation led us here, via your seal on that parchment."

"I can see that," Urgit said, staring at the paper. "And I haven't hired anyone new since I cleaned up the palace ten years ago." He thought a moment. "No wait, I did have to replace someone who contracted a fever two months ago. It had been going around and within two weeks of catching it he was dead. He was pretty important to me so I needed to position filled quickly."

Vanion looked skeptical. "A fever? A high-ranking official? It sounds to me like this illness was man made."

"Have you irritated any Nyissans lately, brother?" Silk asked him.

"Come to think of it, no. But it did seem pretty easy to fill in the position. A man showed up in my private office about a week after the death. He looked a little different than the Angarak toadies I'd been interviewing the day before, and his voice and manner seemed trustworthy. Almost too trustworthy."

"And that didn't tip you off? I'm disappointed in you. You would never hold your head up in Drasnia with that scam on your record."

"Let it lie, Silk," Belgarath said. "What is this man's name."

"The name he gave me was Rokor. I'm beginning to think that was a falsity too."

Silk threw his hands up. "I should have stayed here with you and made sure you could do this by yourself. After all, that's what older brothers are for."

Urgit looked hurt. He turned to Belgarath. "The man had credentials and documents of service from previous positions. It was all very official and it seemed completely airtight. I would have hired Torak himself under those circumstances."

"This is Cthol Murgos, Urgit. Even _you_ don't have that clean of a record," the old sorcerer pointed out.

Urgit sighed and dropped into a chair. "My brain must have been turned off. It seems I have been seriously duped." Then his face hardened. "I won't be so again though. I shall make an example of this miscreant."

"Right, ho, good King, we shall flush him out like the vermin he is, and do war upon his body so that many others may know that the King of their fair country may not be so foully used."

"Mandorallen, be quiet," Belgarath said. "We have to do this carefully. If we alert him that we suspect anything, he may just slither back into his Nyissan poison bottle."

"But how can we make a move now that won't let him know that we're on to him?" Urgit asked, his nose giving a telltale twitch.

"I have an idea," Hettar said.

"Thanks all the same, Hettar," Polgara told him, "but we do need to get answers out of this man. So you can take your hand off of your saber now."

"What is his position?" Sparhawk asked.

"He handles the disputes of high ranking landowners and merchants."

"You don't handle those yourself?" Garion asked.

"No. That way I don't ever play favorites and I don't run the risk of the loser decorating my back with daggers. Besides, most of Murgodom refuses to listen to the king anyway, so if I have someone in the actual government do it, it has more of an impact."

They racked their brains for a few more minutes, then Polgara stood. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a bath." She looked around. "Let me rephrase, I _do_ know about the rest of you."

The ladies spent a long time on their bath, but Garion was back in his room and changed in under a quarter of an hour. Puttering around with his map, he was startled when someone knocked on his door. He jerked, knocking Iron Grip's sword over. It clattered to the floor, the heavy hilt chipping the marble. The orb flickered at him with a sharp rebuke. Garion wondered if he had hurt it. It didn't seem to be cracked. It had left a nice round dent in the floor, however. "Sorry," he said to it. He picked it up and walked over to open the door.

It was Sparhawk. The big knight looked past him into the room. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just clumsy," Garion waved him inside. "Was there -" he broke off, looking at the brightly blazing orb. "What are you doing that for? I said I was sorry." He stood the sword over in a corner. The stone still glowed a steady blue. Garion chose to ignore it.

"I was wondering of you had any plans for tonight," Sparhawk asked him.

Garion looked amused. "If your wife knew you were asking other men questions like that…"

Sparhawk smiled. "I was talking to Belgarath and he hinted at maybe making an excursion of some kind after it gets dark."

"An excursion?"

"He wasn't too clear, he was in a hurry to see Urgit when I bumped into him. He said he would explain it at dinner once he got his facts straight."

"I hope so. Sometimes Grandfather can take cryptic to an art form. Not as much as the friend in here, though," Garion tapped his forehead.

"What is he, really?" Sparhawk asked curiously.

"He's the prophecy, or more specifically, he is the voice of purpose. The universe has a purpose, and that purpose has an awareness. Up until recently there were two prophecies, two purposes, and two awarenesses."

"That must have been exciting. Did you ever ask it?"

"Ask it what?"

"What it was. What the purpose of the universe really was, or is for that matter."

"I never really thought about it," Garion admitted, frowning. "I didn't need anything else to worry about at the time. I don't really think I'd want to know though. I may have to fix it, but I don't necessarily need to know why."

Belgarath's plan was a good one. At dinner he explained it to them. "I asked Urgit if he had noticed any strange behavior along about midnight involving the people in his government. Namely this Rokor. He told me that it wasn't unusual for the man to be looking dead some mornings and he guessed it to be from lack of sleep."

"You mean more dead than they normally look?" Garion asked.

"It happened usually right after obscure holidays like solstices. Also the man has really been interested in the price of fur."

"Any particular kind?" Garion asked, though he knew the answer.

"Brown bear."

"Has he been limping?" Sparhawk asked.

"Not recently, but Urgit told me he had a horse step on his foot about a week after he was installed in office. At least that's what the man told him. I'm convinced that's a lie and that he had been branded. He's probably not Ulfgrim, but he's somebody fairly important."

"So what's the plan for tonight, Grandfather?"

"It seems that tonight is the autumnal equinox. There are no forests around, but this afternoon I checked out a couple of weedy ravines where there is a lot of mesquite and sagebrush growing. Those kinds of secluded places attract Cultists like a dead dog attracts flies. It should be a fair guess to assume that our friends will be out there in one of them. All we have to do is fly over. We'll be able to see them fairly well. I'll go pick up a few bearskins of our own and we can just shuffle into camp with the rest of them. If we keep our faces pretty much in shadow we shouldn't be too conspicuous."

"Just us three?" Sparhawk asked.

"I don't think we'll want to take any more. I've asked Pol to stay around here and keep an eye out for suspicious things along about nightfall."

"Why doesn't she go with us?" Sparhawk asked.

"Women aren't really invited to these sort of things."

"What about Talen?" Sparhawk asked. "He used to be a sneak thief, so he can be as inconspicuous as a shadow, and if he can get a good look at the one in charge he'll have us sketches by morning."

"That sounds good to me, Grandfather. Cultists like even numbers so four might fit in better than three."

"Alright," Belgarath agreed. "I'll pick up four bearskins then."


	22. Full of Hot Air

Chapter 22

The sun was just going down when they headed out of the side door of the palace. "These ravines are off to the east about a mile outside of town," Belgarath informed them. "We'll get out of town and Garion and I will change form. The two of you get into your bearskins at that point. Keep going east for about another half mile, then stop. Stay out of sight. Garion or I will find you once we've spotted the Cultist camp. We'll all get suited up and join them. Garion knows what all is involved, but I'll give the two of you pointers as we go along."

"Did you tell anyone where we were going, Granfather?" Garion asked.

"I told Urgit. He gave me the bearskins." He looked at Garion. "You mean your Aunt?"

Garion nodded.

"I left her a note." The old man smirked.

As they left town Belgarath showed them the shuffling gait of the standard cultist fanatic, and the hand gestures that went along with the chanting. "We probably won't be too involved in what they are doing. We are there to observe. We don't want to make waves, and we certainly don't want any of these cultists to remember us later." They passed through the eastern gate and turned slightly north. When they were some distance from the walls, Belgarath ducked behind a jagged outcropping. The others followed suit. Sparhawk dug two of the bearskin tunics out of the pack he had slung across his back and handed one to Talen. Belgarath turned to Garion. "Remember to do it slowly. If any of our cultists are Grolims that are at all talented, we don't want to take the chance of one of them hearing us." Then he began to flow into the shape of a speckled falcon.

"See you in a bit," Garion told them, then also changed slowly into a falcon.

"Wow," Talen breathed as the two spiraled up into the night sky. "I wish I could do that. I hardly heard anything this time."

"I wonder where their clothes go," Sparhawk mused. "Let's keep going."

They walked the next half-mile in careful silence, watching where every step was placed. They waited for perhaps twenty minutes before Garion swooped in and almost seeped into his own form. "I found them," he said taking a bearskin from Sparhawk. "About a mile that way," he pointed southeast. "Right in the bottom of one of those ravines Grandfather mentioned."

"Where is he?" Talen asked.

"I'll call him in." Garion closed his eyes and sent his thought out. _I found them, Grandfather._

A moment later Belgarath dropped from the sky. He looked a little frazzled as he resumed his own shape. "I ran into a gusty thermal and got a couple of my feathers broken. That's going to take me a while to work out." He gave Garion a hard look. "Didn't it occur to you that somebody might hear you calling out to me?"

"I did it quietly, Grandfather. Aunt Pol taught me how to do that years ago."

"I didn't hear anything," Talen put in.

Belgarath looked at him sharply. "I can hear some of the things you do, but when you are trying to be quiet it just sounds like normal things like the breeze," Talen explained quickly.

"I told you, Grandfather," Garion said.

"This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it," Belgarath said then, taking a bearskin and holding it with distaste. "Let's get this over with."

When they got close enough to make out figures around a large bonfire, Belgarath began that peculiar shuffle, and the other three followed suit. Sparhawk was surprised at how primitive everything in this little camp was. The other figures all wore beards that stuck out at odd angles and covered most of their faces, making their race hard to determine. Sparhawk guessed that half of them might not be Angaraks simply by physical size. Their hair and beards were entangled with bits of straw and their last meals. No one here smelled any too clean, and each face was cast with a blank slobberiness that was characteristic of the religious fanatic. There were six men already there and they shuffled around that huge conflagration in a circle. Every once in a while one would bellow something and they would change direction. One of the shuffling men reeled into Sparhawk. "Sorry, brother," he said. Sparhawk's stomach turned at his breath. "Hail Belar," the man moaned at him.

"Uh, hail Belar," Sparhawk mumbled, all but shoving the man back in line. He fell in behind Belgarath and Garion in the circle. They walked for perhaps five steps when someone bellowed and the circle turned. Sparhawk almost crashed into Talen who had been walking behind him. The young knight was trying hard not to laugh. "Keep it together," Sparhawk muttered to him.

They continued to trundle around the fire, scuffing their feet for perhaps ten minutes. Then a wide-eyed very skinny man with dark hair, no beard, and the angular eyes of an Angarak ran into camp from the north end of the ravine. "My Lord Rokor is here!" he raved, spit flying from his lips. "Let us prepare for his august presence."

They all stopped walking and fell down on either side of the campfire. Sparhawk shot Talen a look and they too dropped to their knees. The cultists moaned and beat their fists on the ground in a garish kind of rhythm.

The man that stepped out from the shadows at the edge of the firelight was, in Sparhawk's opinion, very anticlimactic. He was medium height, rather skinny and wore a long loose cloak that covered most of his body and face. Only his chin and his deep sunk eyes were visible in the ruddy firelight. As he stepped up to the now howling cultists, he swirled his cloak dramatically. Sparhawk, from his vantage point on the ground could clearly see that the man's feet were bare and none too clean.

"Hail the servant of the Dragon god!" the skinny man with bulging eyes cried. "Glory to the reawakening and the union of the brothers!"

"Thank you, Saracheck," the man said in a slimy voice. He turned to the cultists. "Hail Belar," he said in a voice dripping with contempt and hatred. Whoever this cultist was, he was not involved for the glory of the Bear God.

The cultists moaned and pounded their foreheads on the ground. Then one spoke. "Tell us of the plan for the union, Holy Rokor," he implored.

"Soon, friend, soon. We are getting closer," Rokor said. "Soon we will not have to go into the wilderness for such meetings. We may practice anywhere. The diseased minds of the rulers of man will soon be overthrown."

"Glory be to that day!" another fanatic cried. Then they fell to moaning again.

Sparhawk frowned. He couldn't place the man's accent. It sounded familiar. He felt a tap against his leg. Jerking, he swiveled his head back. It was Belgarath. The old man jerked his head towards the back of the large fire, where they would be concealed in shadow, out of sight from the rest of the group. Slowly they all edged away and disappeared behind the fire. They seemed to attract no attention from anyone else.

"I'm going to see if that Rokor is a Grolim," he informed them. "I'm not as good as Pol is at it, and he may notice me. He probably won't recognize who I am, but if he is a Grolim and if I do alert him, we'll need to move fast and get out of here."

They nodded. Belgarath's face took on a look of concentration. Then he frowned. Then the frown deepened. "What is it, Grandfather?" Garion whispered. "Is he a Grolim?"

"I don't think so. I don't know what he is."

"I wish we could see his face," Talen grumbled. "If I could get a good look at him, we could leave him to his devices here and go somewhere a lot less…"

"Dangerous?" Garion hissed.

"I was thinking less fragrant, but yes."

"Grandfather, do you think it would be difficult for us to conjure up a puff of wind. Not very big, but enough to blow his hood off for a second so Talen can get a look at him?"

"It'd probably be a little noisy."

"If he's not a Grolim, it won't matter much."

"I don't like ifs." The old man grunted. "We don't have much choice though, and it'll probably work. We can use some of this hot air the fire is producing. That way we won't have to exhaust ourselves trying to stir up a breeze in calm air." He took Garion's hands. "On three. One, two, three."

Their faces both took on expressions of intense concentration. Sparhawk watched, amazed, as the top of the flames began to flatten and flicker more violently. A hot breeze brushed his face as the air around him began to move.

"Not too violent, we don't want to set anyone on fire," Belgarath said, sweating profusely. "Talen, you'd better get in a position where you can see this fellow."

"Right." The young knight moved to one side of the fire.

"Alright, Garion, I think it's grown up enough, let's send it at him,"

"Yes, Grandfather." Garion was sweating too, and not from the heat. Sparhawk stepped out beside Talen.

Suddenly a blast of hot air swept out from either side of the fire and converged on the still orating Rokor. Whatever noise Garion and Belgarath were worried about was undoubtedly drowned in the whoosh of flaming air. Rokor's cloak was whipped about his body and the front was blown up over his face and shoulders. He clawed at it. Then as suddenly as it had arisen, the gust of wind was gone, leaving the still air surprisingly cooler.

The hood of Rokor's cloak was off of his head, and the black garment hung half off his shoulders. Sparhawk and Talen were transfixed by the man's face, however. Sparhawk's mind reeled. The angular eyes and sharp features could not be mistaken. Rokor was Styric.

"This is absolutely unbelievable," Talen said for the hundredth time as they trekked back to the palace. "How did he get here?"

"We all thought Angaraks in the Cult was an incredible idea," Belgarath said, his voice heavy with weariness. "This more or less proves that one should believe something until one sees it contradicted. Not the other way around."

When they reached the palace, Belgarath stopped abruptly. There were now two guards at the side door they had exited before. "Is Urgit beefing up on security?" Garion wondered, shedding the bearskin with relief.

Belgarath and the two knights pulled theirs off. Talen threw his away disgustedly.

"Not unless Pol found our note and called the police on us," Belgarath said.

When they reached the door the guard put his hand on the hilt of his sword suggestively. "Relax, neighbor," Sparhawk told him. "We're the royal visitors from earlier. We just stepped out for a bit."

The guard didn't look impressed.

"Look," Belgarath said, "we don't have time for this. If we cause trouble I personally will be held responsible for the consequences of my own behavior."

The guard looked confused. He tried to make sense of what the old man had said, but finally gave up and grudgingly let them pass. He watched them all the way down the corridor.

"I wonder what's going on," Belgarath said. Even though it was nearly midnight, the hallways were heavy with guards who looked at them darkly but let them pass. It seemed some sort of search was going on. "I don't think this is just some tantrum of Pol's."

Urgit met them at the top of the stairs leading to their rooms. "How did it go?" His voice was high pitched with anxiety, and there was something obviously on his mind besides their answer.

"Well," Belgarath said carefully. "We found out quite a bit. Let's go find Pol, though. She's probably waiting for this information, and I don't want to go through it twice."

"Oh, Belgarath," Urgit said haltingly. Garion noticed that the man's face was white and that he looked a little shaken. "About Lady Polgara…"

"What is it?" Belgarath demanded. "Has she set fire to anything? Hung anyone out a window? Broken all the china?"

Urgit looked supremely unhappy. "There's been an accident."

Garion bolted down the corridors to Polgara's room and flung the door open.

She sat calmly on the bed drinking a cup of tea with Sephrenia. Durnik stood beside her protectively and Vanion hovered by the window.

"Aunt Pol!" Garion cried.

"Why, hello, Garion. You really should have knocked, you know."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dear."

"What happened?" Garion demanded of Urgit who had come up behind him with the two knights and Belgarath.

"Garion, do calm down."

"I can't help it, Aunt Pol. I need to know what happened."

"I fell down the stairs." She resumed sipping her tea.

"You _what?"_

"Actually she was pushed," Urgit said.

"I may have been," she contradicted, sedately setting her tea on the nightstand. "I was going to come up here to wait for you to return. When I got here, though, I realized that I'd left my teacup upstairs in Sephrenia's room. I went up to get it and as I reached the top my foot caught on the carpet. I felt what might have been a shove of someone's directed will and fell."

"Might have been? I doubt you'd fall on your own. Aunt Pol, I've never even seen you stub your toe."

"I must have blacked out for several seconds because the next thing I saw was Durnik standing over me."

"You're alright, aren't you?"

"Yes, Garion. I'm just fine. Just a bruised pride. Among other things." She shifted on the bed gingerly.

Garion sank into a chair. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he said to Urgit.

"Well this complicates matters," Talen observed.

"How so," Belgarath asked.

"If Rokor was in the ravine with the cultists, and he's not a Grolim, then there was someone else from the other side here in the palace who is talented in that area."

"Rokor isn't a Grolim?" Urgit asked.

"No," Sparhawk said. "He's Styric."

Sephrenia gasped. Polgara was in the process of picking up her teacup again. She set it down with a loud clink of china. "Pol?" Durnik asked, concerned.

"It's alright, dear, I was just surprised that's all. Styric?"

"He certainly looked Styric," Sparhawk told her. "You don't know of this man, Little Mother?"

"I've never heard the name Rokor before, Sparhawk. It's not even a Styric name. I suspect it was not given to him at birth."

"Well," Belgarath said, "now we know who wrote down that word."

They stood in silence for a moment. There was really nothing else to say. Then Polgara cleared her throat. She sat looking expectantly at Belgarath.

"What?" he asked her.

"I thought it might not be a bad idea to go to bed, as it is past midnight. I would like to, but that is quite impossible with you all here." She stood, wincing. Durnik put his hand under her arm to support her. "Shoo, Father. You can play with Sparhawk and the King tomorrow."

"She'll be fine," Belgarath told them when they were all in the hallway. Garion noted that the old man's voice shook slightly, though. Garion was privately amused at how Belgarath kept his emotions toward Polgara hidden.

"I thought that the palace was safe from those people," Urgit said. "I'm really sorry about this, Belgarath, she could have broken her neck."

"I think that was the intention. It seems Talen's right. There are Grolims here, and they are pretty direct about getting what they want." He turned to Sephrenia. "Can you feel it when someone does Styric magic around you?"

"Most of the time, yes. It is possible to block others, though. Although one does have ways to get around blocks." She fell silent.

"What do you think I should do?" Urgit sounded worried.

"I'd listen to Pol," Belgarath told him.

"About what?"

"Go to bed."


	23. Sparhawk is an Angarak word for sabotage

Chapter 23

Garion did not sleep well that night. He could not have ever imagined life without his Aunt Pol; although they lived far apart now and weren't in close contact, he still felt special ties to her. She was a rock that had always been there for him, and most of history. But she was different than Belgarath. Garion realized, as he lay awake in the darkness that he had taken the both of them for granted far too many times. Especially his grandfather.

Resigning himself to the fact that he would not be sleeping at all, he quietly rolled out of bed to avoid waking Ce'Nedra. It had been a busy night, and although it was nearing dawn he did not feel the weight of sleeplessness. His mind stirred and his eyes were alert. He wandered the corridors for a while, and then found himself once again at the door of Polgara's apartment.

He was not about to enter without an invitation, so he decided that guard duty would not be a bad idea. Besides, he wanted to find something out, and here was as good a place as any. He silently directed his thought into his own head.

_Are you there? _he asked the dry voice in his mind.

_You're backsliding again._

_Sorry, I never know how to get your attention._

_How about, 'Hello?' I found that works for most normal people._

_I have a question._

_I guessed as much. You know, sometimes you and I should just chat. No questions, no time limits, just have a heart to heart._

_Later, right now I need to know something._

The voice sighed. _Yes?_

_Was that supposed to happen?_

_Was what supposed to happen?_

_Aunt Pol._

_Yes, I think she was pretty important._

_No, I mean tonight._

_What happened to her tonight?_

_You mean you don't know? _ Garion was so surprised he almost said it aloud.

_If I knew, would I have asked?_

Garion told him what had happened. He went on to tell him about the Styric masquerading as a Bear Cult leader. The role reversal was very unnerving.

The voice was silent for a minute after Garion had finished. _I knew I'd missed a few things, but…_

_You _can't_ miss things! You're not supposed to. You're supposed to know everything._

_I wouldn't say everything, maybe almost everything._

_But you should have seen this coming! This was something you shouldn't have missed._

_Not normally, no. But something seems to be blocking my sight; like frost on a window. That's a poor analogy, but it's all you'd understand._

Garion was too shocked to take offense._ It isn't like last time is it? There is still only one of you, right?_

_Oh yes, there's still only one of me. I just can't seem to…I don't…do what I do._

_I don't even remember why I'm here._

That hit Garion like a ton of bricks. _I'd better go find and wake Grandfather,_ he thought, noticing where the predawn light had stained the eastern sky a wet-looking gray. _Don't go anywhere._

_Where would I go?_

Belgarath had not gone to bed either. He sat in his room with a tankard of ale in his hand. Sephrenia, Pelath, Kalten, and Sparhawk were with him. They were idly studying some sketches that Talen had made of Rokor.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Belgarath said, throwing his mismatched shoes out of an empty chair. Garion sat down and Belgarath handed him a copy of the sketch. Garion laid it down without looking at it. "Grandfather," he said intently. "I just had a conversation with my friend." He tapped his forehead.

"I'd wondered what that was," Sparhawk put in. "It was rather faint though so I didn't pay too much attention. Maybe distance has something to do with it," he mused thoughtfully.

"What did he have to say, Garion?"

"Not much, I did most of the talking," Garion looked the old man in the eyes. "Grandfather, he doesn't know what's going on. He said he can't see, or something to that effect. He also said he doesn't even remember the purpose."

"That can't happen," Belgarath insisted. "He _is_ the purpose. He must have been joking. Maybe you dreamt it."

"I know I was awake, and he wasn't joking. I've been around him long enough to know that. He didn't even know what had happened to Aunt Pol last night."

"That _is_ odd. Even if it was just a clever excuse to hide future events from us, he should at least know about ones that have already happened. Can you get him back? Maybe he and I should talk."

"I'll try." _Hello? Are you still there? Grandfather wants to talk to you._

_Much better, Garion. Open your eyes. I like to look at the people I'm talking to._ Garion did so, once again feeling the familiar shift as he became a guest in his own head.

"Yes, Belgarath?"

"What did you mean when you said you couldn't see?"

"Do we have to go through this again? I thought it was pretty clear. I don't know what's going to happen anymore. I don't even know what I need to do, or even why I'm here." Something was obviously making the voice extremely agitated, Garion could fell it in his own voice.

"Why?" Belgarath demanded.

"I don't know that either. If I did, don't you think I'd be able to do something about it?" Garion hadn't heard the voice this excited since the last time the other side had been cheating.

"Maybe it has something to do with us and the Bear Cult," Sparhawk put in.

_Who is that? _The voice whispered in Garion's mind. He was shocked at the fear ringing in it.

"Sir Sparhawk," Garion told it, perplexed enough to say it aloud. But the voice was gone.

"What?" Belgarath asked.

"He's gone now, Grandfather. It's almost like he ran away from something."

They all looked at each other, confused and a little frightened.

"Me?" Sparhawk asked. "It ran away from me?"

"I never believed you could scare off an entire universe, my friend," Kalten said, obviously forcing a laugh to ease the tension.

"I'm beginning to figure something out here," Sephrenia said then. She looked at Sparhawk, then at Garion. "For all intents and purposes you are the center of the universe, am I right?"

"I don't know if I'd put it that way exactly," Garion said, looking a little embarrassed, "but I guess it's true. The Child of Light was pretty important to the continuation of the universe." He paused. "Although Eriond also fits that description pretty well too, especially now."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen him around lately," Belgarath said. He turned to Pelath. "Have you?"

"No, Belgarath. It's been bothering me for a while now. I haven't been able to get in touch with him at all recently."

Sephrenia had narrowed her eyes. Sparhawk had always admired the tiny

woman's enormous capacity for analytical thought, which was way beyond any of theirs. "What if it wasn't an accident? What if they really were after Sparhawk?"

"What do you mean?" Belgarath asked her.

"This world runs on purpose. Without a purpose things kind of stop. Those things that are connected to the purpose aren't needed anymore so they stop as well."

"Are you saying that Eriond just disappeared?" Garion demanded.

"He may have."

"But what could have caused this to happen? What would have that kind of power to-" Garion stopped and stared at Sparhawk.

"Exactly," Sephrenia told them. "Anakha. The Man Without Destiny, or purpose. Apparently he is also the negation of it. By drawing him into this world, the other side has neatly defeated it's objective, whatever that may have been. And probably everything connected to it."

"Garion," Belgarath said sharply, "the Orb! What would it do without a purpose? Would it still have an awareness?"

"I don't know, Grandfather," Garion admitted with dismay.

"You know it better than anybody."

"Not everybody. Aldur knows more about it than I ever will. He did make it, after all. And Eriond was the one who carried it around for Belar knows how many years."

"But Aldur's gone. All the Gods are. And who knows if he will come if we call for him."

"We won't unless we try. We need someone powerful, and right know Eriond can't help us. One of the other gods is the only other option, and Aldur's the best choice for that. Even if he can't do anything, he maybe can give us some answers."

"It might exhaust the both of us to try."

"Grandfather, we don't have any choice. I don't know what else to do, and the voice is useless. I'll go get Aunt Pol. She can help."

"No, let her be. Go get Durnik. He's probably not asleep anyway."

Garion almost ran down the corridors. He found Durnik sitting on the floor, almost dozing, outside the door to the apartment he shared with Polgara. As Garion approached he raised his head. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Belgarath and I are going to try to get in touch with Aldur and we need your help."

"What? Why?" Durnik said, getting to his feet.

"We figured a few things out, and we need some answers."

"Why not just ask your friend?"

"That's one of the things we need answered. We'd better get back. I think we may want to stay on top of this."

"Alright," Belgarath said when they sat at the round table. "Garion you've helped your aunt do this and you've both seen us do it. So we'll do it slow so Durnik can pick it up as we go. Okay, begin." They each took hands and closed their eyes. Garion pushed his will out to the image of Aldur that he formed in his mind. He felt Durnik's familiar, shiny will on his right, and his grandfather's slightly rustier will on his left both pushing along with his.

_Master!_ They all cried out at the same time. There was a warming in his hands and feet that Garion first thought was numbness from the effort it was taking, but soon he realized that it was warmth from a presence. Slowly he relaxed his will and opened his eyes. Belgarath and Durnik did the same. Aldur stood by the table, the familiar blue nimbus about him.

"What is it, my sons?" he asked softly.

"Master, we have dire need of thee," Belgarath said.

"Obviously. I did not think this was purely a social visit," Aldur replied. "I could sense there was something amiss."

Belgarath told him what was going on. The god showed little surprise, although Garion knew the news must be at least disturbing. "I also as of late have been unable to reach my youngest brother. Unfortunately, I am no longer a part of our mother's purpose. I do not think I could be of any influence."

"But couldst thou answer a question, master?" Garion asked.

"Of course, my son."

"What of the Orb?"

Now Aldur's eternal face took on a more concerned expression. "The Orb I do feel would not diminish in awareness or function. After all, my son, thou didst not," he told Garion. Garion felt sort of relieved. The orb was a constant that he did not want to change.

"But would its restrictions diminish?" Durnik asked.

"What dost Thou mean?"

"Would it remove its barriers and, say, let anyone touch it? Without a purpose, it doesn't really need to protect itself."

"In truth I had not thought of that. Thou hast a most investigative and complex mind, my son." Durnik actually blushed. "Yes, it might. I suggest to thee to keep close watch on it from now until this issue is resolved. Lest it be stolen again. And now I must go." He started to fade. "One more thing though. I do believe that the followings of Belar's Cult are secondary to the real issue. They are but the tail of the great snake of the problem."

"Salmissra's not involved, too?" Belgarath demanded.

"Nay, my son, it was but an expression." The god turned to Sephrenia. "Little Mother," Sparhawk was surprised to hear the expression, "thy efforts will not be wasted. Although without thy goddess thou have less magical potential, thy mind and thy guile will be of high importance to the salvation of thyself and thy friends." He smiled then. "Give my regards to Aphrael, when thou next sees her. Her kisses are quite sweet."

And with a fond smile he disappeared.

"Now what?" Kalten asked, cowed.

"Apparently we don't need to be here anymore. The Bear Cult is interfering and is a big part of this, but there is a bigger part somewhere else. We need to find out where."

"I think I know," Garion said. "What's the one thing that a lot of people have wanted over the years, especially the Bear Cult?"

"The unification of Aloria?"

"Yes, but their capitol is somewhere besides Val Alorn. I think we need to go back to Riva. I don't like the thought of my children there alone anymore. And it's the best place to protect the Orb."


	24. What was Newton's Fleshy Orb anyway?

Chapter 24

Sorry about the big gap with no new chapters. I misplaced my jump drive with my latest chapters on it way back in April and just now found it! So it will be more regular I promise! -DTF Chan

Chapter 24

"I can't believe we have to wait a whole day just so those idiots can search the ship!" Belgarath fumed.

"It's not my fault they won't take orders from me anymore," Ce'Nedra told him primly. "Uncle Varana is very firm and I'm not as cute as I was when I was younger."

Garion smiled at her. "You are just as cute, but you're countrymen can be a real pain in the neck. It's Greldik's fault, really. He did skip customs to get here."

"Yes, but we are in a bit of a hurry," Belgarath told him. "We don't have time to waist on the leisure of the Tolnedran Customs Agency."

"I know, Grandfather, but the more you yell at them the slower they work. See if you can find Pelath and have a drink to take your mind off it."

The old sorcerer stumped away. "That was very smooth, Garion," Ce'Nedra told him, tucking herself up under his arm.

"If I didn't learn anything else from my Aunt Pol, I definitely learned how to handle codgy old men."

Ce'Nedra laughed. "I don't even think that's a real word Garion."

"It is so. You just watched the definition of it walk away," he turned around with her still under his arm. "Ask Aunt Pol the next time you see her. She invented it. Then tell _her_ it's not a real word."

Once the customs agents had been satisfied and Greldik had been sufficiently fined, they began the trek back onto the boats. They had recalled _Seabird_ as well for the journey, since it was heading back to Cherek anyway. "I'll send you the bill for passage later, Garion!" Barak shouted from his ship as they pulled away from the dock that evening.

Garion laughed. "You won't lower the prices for me will you?"

Barak shook his head with a broad smile. "Never between friends!" he replied.

Garion laughed and turned away, wondering if Barak was actually serious. He turned to see Polgara coming up on deck followed closely by Sparhawk's daughter Danae. He had noticed that the two were oddly close. Their temperaments matched well and Danae's odd maturity put her on a level with the ageless sorceress that none of the others shared. Sephrenia was similar in skill and personality, but there was something in Polgara that Danae seemed to follow and something in Danae that intrigued Polgara.

"Good evening, Aunt Pol, Princess."

"How are you holding up, Garion?" Polgara asked him.

"I'm fine. How are you?" he asked a little darkly. He still believed his aunt had been pushed.

"Contrary to what you, my father and Durnik believe, Garion, I am not made of porcelain. And I heal just like everybody else."

"I think you look pretty good for someone your age," said a sly voice behind her.

"Why thank you, Kheldar," she said sweetly without even turning around. "Unfortunately age favors only a few." She smiled beatifically at him. "Garion, have you seen my father?"

"He's over there," Garion pointed to the upper deck where Belgarath was talking to Pelath and Sparhawk.

"If you will excuse me," she said, then made her way stately across the ship, Danae following her after giving a prim look to Talen, who stood beside Silk.

After much insistence on his wife's part, Durnik had given in and boarded Barak's ship. It had been obvious that he wanted to spend some time with the others, especially Khalad, but was reluctant to leave Polgara. The young knight Berit had switched to take his place. Garion rather liked the man. He reminded him very much of himself at that age. Berit sat watching the sea disappear behind them some yards away. He often distanced himself, when he wasn't in the company of Durnik and Khalad. He was very quiet, not a rowdy like most of the other Elenes.

"Why aren't you over there with them?" Silk asked him, coming up to the rail beside Garion.

"I've said all I wanted to say, and they just repeat what they say over and over. I've heard it and now I want to think about it. The more they talk the more they worry. Worry never got anyone anywhere, so I'm not going to waste my time on it."

Talen had been munching on an apple. He threw the core some distance into the water. It made a _thood _noise in the deep water outside the harbor.

"Good arm," Garion commented. Talen shrugged. "So you used to be a thief?" Garion asked him.

"Used to be nothing," Silk put in. "Once a thief, always a thief."

"You sound like Platime," Talen said. "'You can always steal something, even if it's only information,' he used to say."

"_Only_ information? My dear boy, information is the most valuable thing in the world!"

"It doesn't buy bread," Talen told him.

"That depends on how much bread you want to buy, and from whom, and how much you want to pay for it."

"You won't win, Talen," Garion said. "Never tell a spy that information is

useless."

"Oh I never said it was useless, but I think stealing gold is more profitable." He smirked. "Information, though, is usually more fun."

The next morning was rainy and humid. Garion sat in his fusty cabin watching Ce'Nedra working the frizzy curls out of her hair. He had noticed in his many years with her, that whenever the air was the least bit damp, her hair curled tightly and floated about her head like a fuzzy red cloud.

"Ohhhhh!" Ce'Nedra groaned, throwing her comb at the mirror. "Sometimes I wish I had the courage to chop it all off." Garion had heard this many times. Suddenly his wife stood. Grabbing her cloak she walked purposefully to the cabin door.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to visit Ehlana. Maybe she has a way to smooth it out. Even if she doesn't, maybe she looks as bad as I do."

"Be careful," he warned. "Their cabin is aft. The deck is pretty slippery when it's wet."

"I know, Garion. Don't be a mother hen."

After she had gone, Garion sat staring at the Orb. Despite what Aldur had said about its awareness, he felt reluctant to reach out to it. What if it was just a stone?

Finally curiosity got the better of him. He reached out his hand and touched it. It glowed blue in response to him. That was reassuring, but still no guarantee. The perfect test would be for someone else to touch it. That way they would know how far it still would go to protect itself, assuming it had a self to protect. But that was out of the question. Then he had an idea. The prophecy had become agitated by Sparhawk's presence. Maybe the Orb would be too. At least then he would know that it was still more than a pretty rock. Tucking it under his tunic he rose and pulled on his own cloak.

The rain had gotten heavier and the wind had picked up. That had relieved most of the humidity, but it also made the trip across the deck if not dangerous, at least exciting. He reached the aft companionway without falling, but resolved to help Ce'Nedra back across.

Sparhawk's cabin was at the back of the aft end, out of reach of the rain, so the door stood slightly ajar to let the wind blow the mustiness out of the cabin. As he walked down the short hallway, Garion could hear his wife's voice as well as Ehlana's, Liselle's, Polgara's, and Sephrenia's. With that many women in that cabin, talking about hair and things, he guessed Sparhawk was elsewhere.

"He said something about going down to the galley," Ehlana told him when he asked about the big knight's whereabouts. "I think he said Belgarath was down there."

The galley of the ship was cramped with food. Great bags of flour and meal sat in stacks six feet high. Jars of fruits and preserves stood in battalions in cupboards lining the walls. Barrels of potatoes and apples turned the floor into a maze. Huge hams and hunks of beef and lamb hung from hooks along the back. This barely left room for the cook's counter and a long narrow table and benches on which Sparhawk, Belgarath and Talen had seated themselves. Garion slid a barrel of apples out of the way and sat down next to Talen.

"Getting out of their way, too?" Belgarath asked him, handing him a wooden mug filled with spiced wine.

"Something like that. Actually I was looking for Sparhawk. I have a theory and I need to test it."

"On me?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Sort of." Garion pulled the Orb out of his tunic. "I remember the first time I saw you, and another time when you were around, the Orb responded. I was just curious if it was just me, or if it would do it again."

"Careful, Garion," Belgarath warned. "We know what the Orb is normally capable of, but if it has lost its restrictions it may be even more dangerous."

"Sparhawk didn't have any trouble with the Bhelliom and the Troll Gods," Talen said.

Garion held the Orb towards himself. It glowed the neutral blue it always had for him. He raised it slowly and extended it towards Sparhawk.

Suddenly the Orb burst into red incandescence. It also grew very hot. Garion cried out and dropped it onto the table. It rolled for a moment then stopped in front of Sparhawk. Its song, normally a calm murmur, had grown angry and off-key. "Grab it!" Belgarath barked at him in wolf speech, jerking Sparhawk away from the table. The table bounced off Sparhawk's knee, sending the thoroughly outraged Orb careening to the floor. Just as Garion dove for it the ship lurched to one side, dumping Belgarath and Sparhawk in a heap and sending Talen flying over the galley counter. Garion's flailing hand found the rolling Orb and he bound it tightly in his cloak. The ship pitched the opposite direction and Garion was suddenly covered with apples.

"What do you think you are doing!" Belgarath growled at him. "You should have listened to me!" He was still barking harshly in wolf speech, and Garion suspected that had he hackles in this form, they would be bristling.

"I'm sorry," Garion whined, pulling an apple out of his hood. "I didn't know it would be this violent. If the ship hadn't lurched..."

"What's going on?" shouted Silk's voice from the door. "Between you down here and the storm out there no one can get any sleep in this tub."

"Has it gotten any worse up there?" Belgarath asked, obviously forcing himself to calm down.

"The waves are getting a little rowdier but nothing to worry about yet." The little man was looking them all over with a confused expression on his face. "Why are you all on the floor?"

"Never mind that now. Let's find your Aunt, Garion. I think it's time to break up their little party."


	25. Two ships flying in the night

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"It did _what?_" Ce'Nedra exclaimed when Belgarath told Polgara what had happened. "The only time it's ever done that was when it was close to the Sardion."

"Was it reacting to Sparhawk or something else?" Ehlana asked nervously.

"We're fairly sure it was Sparhawk," Belgarath said.

"Unless the Orb didn't like what the cook had laid out for dinner," Talen put in.

"Talen, be serious," Danae scolded him.

"I was. It didn't look to appetizing to me either."

"This is bad," Polgara said. "If the Orb thinks Sparhawk is the enemy, then the sooner we get him back where he belongs the better. Now it has become not just a mission to get him home, but to get him out of here before he damages the universe any further."

Sparhawk looked slightly affronted.

"The Lady Polgara has always had a way with words," Silk told him.

"He knows what I meant," she sighed.

Silk ignored her and turned to Garion. "Apparently you do have to fix things again."

Garion looked at Belgarath. "Don't worry, I'm not even going to say it."

"I didn't say anything," Belgarath said innocently.

"Well don't."

The storm continued to get worse. Sparhawk was awakened shortly before dawn when the ship pitched and nearly threw him out of bed. Ehlana's gasp told him she too was awake. He could hear the rain lashing the deck above them and the cry of sailors breaking down the mast. The storm must have gotten pretty bad if they were battening down that much, but they hadn't pulled into the coastline and beached to ride it out so it couldn't be _that_ bad, Sparhawk thought. He put his arm around his wife, glad neither of them got seasick. "It can't be that bad can it?" she asked in a hushed voice that was barely audible over the wind and the crashing waves.

"I think we'd have beached somewhere if it was."

Just then a knock sounded on their cabin door. The door flew open and Stragen stood there, soaked to the bone. "Sparhawk, you'd better come up here, I think Greldik wants to beach the ship and we can use all the help we can get."

"I spoke too soon," Sparhawk said, wincing against the cold as his feet touched the floor.

"It's the wind. It may have already blown us off course. Lady Polgara flew out and found an island where we can ride out the storm. It's still half a day away but it's the closest thing bigger than a horse in any direction."

Sparhawk dressed quickly and pulled on his heavy cloak. "Ehlana, I want you to go next door to Polgara's room. Stay there until told otherwise."

She just nodded. Sparhawk could tell his wife was afraid because she didn't object to his giving her orders. She disappeared into the cabin where Ce'Nedra and Danae had already taken refuge.

The companionway was soaking wet. The wind and spray had combined to make the stairs very slick. Sparhawk slid his way to where Greldik had a death grip on the tiller.

"There you are," The seaman shouted at him. "You should keep a closer eye on your daughter, you know. About ten minutes ago, she came walking up here like there was no storm at all and suggested all sorts of crazy things to me."

"Danae?" Sparhawk said, confused. "What did she tell you to do?"

"Most of it I didn't understand, but I thought it was kind of odd, her bein' up here instead of below where it's safer. I told her that and she just walked away. I assume she went back to her room."

"You're sure it was Danae."

"I don't see how it could have been anybody else. She looked a little older than your daughter, but, if you don't mind me saying so your daughter is a mighty strange one."

"She can be sometimes. Where did she go?"

"Like I said before, she went below," he took one hand off the tiller long enough to point to the forward end of the ship.

Before Sparhawk could point out that the room his daughter was in was aft, the ship rocked even more violently and Greldik became oblivious to Sparhawk's presence.

Sparhawk had just seen Danae in Polgara's room in the aft end of the ship. He wanted to go investigate the mystery person, but at that moment, someone handed him a rope and he concentrated on getting the sails retied. He had some suspicions, but how they could be possible he could not explain.

They worked hard for most of the day to reach the little beach. The storm gradually lessened, but not to any safe degree. Luckily the rain had created no fog, and the passage to the islet was clear. Shortly after midday Sparhawk felt a break was necessary. The sailors had mostly everything under control now, so he decided to find out if his suspicions were true. Carefully he made his way down the forward companionway to Sephrenia's room. He knocked on the door.

"Come in Sparhawk," said a familiar voice.

He pushed to door open to see a very cute Styric girl of about four sitting serenely in Vanion's lap.

"Flute!" he exclaimed after quickly closing the door. "What in god's name are you doing here!"

"You have no idea how may people I had to kiss and pout at to get here," she told him. "You wouldn't even understand how I did it. I figured you could use a little help."

"Well now that you're here you can-"

"Unfortunately it's only temporary and I can't take you back with me."

"Why not!" he exclaimed. "You're a goddess. Perform a miracle or something."

"He's such a baby, Sephrenia. He really doesn't understand does he? The only reason I can be here at all, Sparhawk, is that there are Styrics here. They shouldn't be here and neither should I. You think _you_ are messing up the purpose of the universe. You should see the giant hole I ripped in it to get here."

"But _why_ are you here?"

"Because Sephrenia asked me to come."

"A long time go," Vanion told her.

"Like I said, I had a lot of people to kiss and whatnot. Besides, I wanted to see what exactly was going on over here."

"Was it you Greldik saw on deck earlier?"

"Yes, but not Flute-me. I used me-me. I thought it would get his attention more."

"He thought you were Danae."

"But I am Danae."

"I'm confused. If you were that curious, why didn't you just have Danae tell you what was going on?"

"Danae is an incarnation of me, I guess you could say. When she came over here, not all of me came with her. And the part of me that is her couldn't talk to the part of me that is Flute. The split is driving me crazy." She paused as if listening. "What is going on up there. I thought I made myself pretty clear to that oaf."

"He didn't believe you. Like I said, he thought you were Danae."

"What?" She stood up on Vanion's knees. "That idiot."

"You certainly don't expect him to take orders from someone he considers to be a child, do you?" Vanion told her, setting her on the floor.

She sighed. "I guess I'd better do it myself, then." She closed her eyes for a moment. From above them there were many loud thumps, as of bodies hitting the deck.

"What did you do?" Sparhawk demanded.

"Well I couldn't very well work with all those sailors yanking and pulling on what I am working on. I put them to sleep. They're safe, Sparhawk, I'll make sure none of them gets washed out to sea."

The ship lurched again then steadied. Sparhawk felt a slight rising in the pit of his stomach. "Are we flying?" he asked her.

"Not entirely. I'm just supporting the parts of the ship the water isn't. It'll make for a smoother ride. Now where are we going?"

"There's an island beach about a mile ahead of us," Vanion told her.

"I was afraid you were going there."

"Why is that?"

"There's a reef that rings the island. It's not too shallow, but shallow enough that this storm would have banged you all to pieces on it before you found a way through. I'll just go right over it."

As much as Flute had insisted that they were not flying, they were definitely floating on something other than water. After about five minutes Sparhawk felt the soft grind of sand against the bottom of the ship. The movement slowed and the ship came to rest slightly on its side, out of the water.

"Very nice," Sparhawk congratulated her. "But what happens when Captain Greldik wakes up and finds that he didn't steer his ship onto the beach."

"When he wakes up, he'll think he did. He won't remember ever going to sleep."

Sparhawk then had a cold thought. "What about the other ship?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Go up on deck and see for yourself."

He did. The stairs were marginally easier now that they no longer moved, but the angle of the ship made walking up them awkward. He walked between the sailors who were woodenly waking up to resume their former positions on the deck. It was rather eerie. In the flashes of lighting Sparhawk could see the _Seabird_ several hundred yards away, positioned similarly. He shook rain out of his eyes, then went back below.

He walked in on Flute saying goodbye to Vanion.

"That's all?" Sparhawk protested. "Can't you stay and help some more?"

"That's all?" she repeated. "I just saved all your lives with a semi-divine miracle and you say, 'that's all'?" She looked annoyed. "I know you miss me, Sparhawk, but my older siblings are already cross with me for being here this long. When they find out I actually had to interfere, some may not speak to me for at least a hundred years." She smiled again then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Sparhawk," she said, and disappeared.

"Did either of you understand what she meant about Danae?" Sparhawk asked Sephrenia after a moment.

"It works like this, as much as your daughter acts like a goddess, she was born human and that limits her sometimes. Mortality is a great threat to some people."

"It is to most people, Little Mother."

She gave him a stern look. "Flute came across a barrier that we cannot even fathom. Danae however couldn't even communicate across it. She has Aphrael's awareness and power, but on a slightly subdued level. That and the fact that there are very few Styrics here, probably less than ten, makes Danae's divinity relatively useless on a grand scale."

"I never thought of it like that," Sparhawk said.

"You should have asked her." Sephrenia shrugged.

At that moment Greldik stamped down the companionway. "We're ashore!" he called.

The small beach they had settled on was barely an inlet in a wall of cliffs, but it was well protected from the wind and a system of surprisingly large caves at the back gave adequate shelter from the rain, even for the horses.

The rain stopped shortly after they came ashore and Sparhawk decided to put his time to good use. As he was hunting for dry driftwood in sheltered places on the beach, Garion came up to him. "What exactly happened to the ship?" the king asked curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"When Grandfather and I flew over here to see what kind of shelter these caves afforded, I looked out to see if I could spot Barak's ship, and I did. _Above_ the water. I know Aunt Pol and Durnik are strong, but I don't think even they could have lifted a ship each by themselves. I don't know how Sephrenia's magic works but that was pretty spectacular for one person to have done."

Sparhawk wasn't sure how much he should tell Garion about Flute. "Let's get your grandfather and find Sephrenia. She can answer your questions better than I can."

"She came over here just to pull us out of the water?" Belgarath seemed a little skeptical.

"And to get a better understanding of what was going on here," Sparhawk said. "That way she can help from our side."

"But why couldn't she do more?" Garion asked.

"Because there are very few of her worshipers here. She could not stay here long."

"I've noticed something else," Belgarath said suddenly. "While we're on the subject. Just how old is your daughter?"

"Eleven, why?" Sparhawk said carefully, wondering where this was going.

"She doesn't act eleven."

Sparhawk merely looked at him. He knew Belgarath was no fool, and had been wondering when the old sorcerer would figure it out.

"Now don't get defensive on me. I've been around a long time, Sparhawk, and I can usually tell when something or someone is more than what they want everyone to think. I'm just curios exactly what, or who that girl is. Is she really your daughter?"

"She is," Sparhawk told him flatly.

"There is no talking to him, is there," Belgarath remarked to Sephrenia.

"Now dear one," she said to Sparhawk. "I don't think Belgarath is trying to be offensive."

"I don't think he's trying to be not offensive."

"He's practically got it figured out, Sparhawk," Vanion told him.

"Danae is more than she lets on. Far beyond just being mature and intelligent for someone her age," Belgarath continued.

Sparhawk sighed. "Danae is an incarnation of the goddess Aphrael. The 'Flute' we were just talking about."

"That's interesting," Belgarath said. "I'd suspected something along those lines. I assume there is a specific reason that your daughter is a goddess."

Sparhawk hesitated. It was must have been obvious that he was hesitant to answer because Garion looked at him sympathetically.

"It probably explains why Aunt Pol is so attached to her," Garion put in with a smile. "After years of so many talented little boys it must be nice to have a girl."

"The main thing is that her mother doesn't know," Sparhawk told him. "We've managed to keep up that Danae is normal this long."

"Why?"

"Ehlana would rather not know. Believe me. Especially since Danae is destined to be an only child."

"Why is that?" Garion asked.

Sparhawk told them about Ehlana's past. "Aphrael only did it because we needed an heir," he concluded.

"Well that certainly explains it," Garion said, suddenly self conscious of his own large number of children.

"That young knight, ah...Talen, has designs on your daughter?" Belgarath asked after a moment.

Sparhawk laughed. "It's really the other way around. She's had her eye on him since she was about five."

"Aren't you worried that he's too old for her?"

"No," Sparhawk said, his own age painfully obvious. "He's only fourteen years her senior."

"It was very much the same with Sparhawk and Ehlana," Vanion said with a smile. "He had to babysit the king's daughter, who decided she wanted to marry him when she was three. He was about Talen's age at the time, maybe a little younger, and was not about to consider marriage to Ehlana. We all know who won that dispute. It took her until she was eighteen to talk him into it, though."

"I don't know what I'll do when Geran gets an interest in girls. I hope he doesn't have any already," Garion said with a pained expression. "They do all sorts of nasty things to a man's brain."

"Really?" Sephrenia said archly.

"Figuratively speaking of course."

"Smooth," Vanion murmured.


	26. Stuff a cork in it, Kalten

Chapter 26

Sparhawk spent the evening with his fellow knights. It had been a while since they had all been exclusively together, and Sparhawk had begun to feel separated from them. The set of caves met the beach at numerous points, and each of these holes in the rock was dotted with a small fire. Sparhawk walked from fire to fire, talking and drinking with his friends.

"Anyone have a clue where we are?" Kalten asked.

Barak was with them, mapping out a navigation around the reefs. He squinted up at a patch of stars through the clouds. "I don't think we're that far off course," he said pointing to the map he had laid across a flat rock. "I'm pretty sure we've hit this small system of islets about twenty leagues west of the Tolnedran coast."

"You're sure we're not all the way down here?" Kalten asked, poking a picture of jagged islands far to the south. The little tooth of rock was labeled "Korim" in fancy script.

"Ahh, no. I'd know if we were there."

"So tomorrow we sail with the sun on our right then," Stragen said from behind the neck of his lute. He was tightening things here and there.

"Assuming there is a sun," Kalten pointed out, glaring up at the dripping clouds that were strung like soggy gray pillows across the sky.

"We can still find north, Kalten," Khalad said, coming up behind them. "Even without the sun."

"What, reading moss on trees? That doesn't always work, you know. And besides, we're in the ocean. No trees."

Khalad sighed. "Can I see that wine bottle?" he asked Tynian.

"I know," Tynian said, handing it to him, "explaining things to Kalten makes me want to drink too."

Khalad smiled, then carefully pried the cork from the bottle and poured some wine into a wooden bowl. Setting it on the ground near the fire, he took a needle from the edge of his tunic. Then he took his flint and rubbed the needle.

"What are you doing?" Tynian asked him, leaning over.

"This is something Durnik told me. He said he discovered it while studying about the poles." Carefully he inserted the needle into one end of the cork. "Watch it, gentlemen," he said. "It should tell you where north is." He set the cork into the bowl of wine. It floated for a moment, then slowly revolved. It stopped with the needle pointed straight at Kalten's surprised face. "That way," concluded Khalad.

"You're going to believe a cork?" Kalten said doubtfully. "I'd rather look for moss."

"It's a sound principle," Bevier told them. "I've never actually studied it myself, but the poles of the world to seem to have strange properties. Perhaps it is possible that certain metals do point north."

"Sometimes you can have too much faith in something, Bevier," Kalten told him.

Bevier sniffed, and his face turned white.

"I am willing to believe that this is a valid way to point north," Sparhawk said to Kalten. "Until I see something better, I am going to use it. You all are welcome to stay here tomorrow, though, if you don't trust me."

"Sorry," mumbled Kalten.

Kalten's prediction of the weather had been fairly accurate. The clouds made dawn light up the whole sky, then completely hid the sun from view, causing them to fall back on Khalad and Durnik's cork trick. Surprisingly enough, Greldik thought the idea was a good one and appointed Ce'Nedra and Ehlana as official cork-watchers, although for a while everyone was hanging over the bowls waiting for the needle to move away from north. After about an hour and a half, it started to slide off the mark, but Khalad was there with his flint. A few good rubs and the needle was steady once again.

Shortly after midday the clouds seemed to melt out of the sky, revealing the sun and the deep blueness that they had all seemed to miss. Spirits noticeably lifted, except for Kalten who was slightly offended that the sun was overhead on their left, proving that the needle was actually working perfectly. He stomped around for a while, muttering, but once the corks and the bowls disappeared below he stopped sulking.

He had, however, been drinking a lot more than was normal for him. Sparhawk had noticed it the night before, but it was not until that evening, when Kalten was on his third bottle after dinner did Sparhawk said anything about it. He waited until everyone else was out of earshot then said gingerly, "Are you going to share any of that, or do you intend to dry up the ship's store of wine by yourself?"

"You want some? I didn't think you were a sea drinker," Kalten said in a bleary sounding voice.

"I'm not, and neither were you until yesterday. Care to explain this sudden change of habit?"

"What's wrong with everyone? Sephrenia was yelling at me this morning, too. I haven't been drinking that much."

"Kalten, Sephrenia boarded the _Seabird_ with Vanion yesterday. That was Greldik who was talking to you earlier."

"Really?" Kalten blinked owlishly at him, then drained the bottle. Sparhawk firmly moved the unopened ones out of Kalten's reach.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong, Sparhawk. If you're going to hound me, I'll go hide in my cabin, but I'd prefer to stay here. Now leave me alone." He leaned back against the wall of the galley, throwing his booted feet up on the bench, almost in Sparhawk's lap.

Sparhawk gave up. He did mention it to Ehlana as she was getting ready for bed that night. "Well it's obvious, isn't it?" she said, setting down her brush.

"Why would it be obvious to you and not me, when Kalten's been my best friend since I can remember."

"Sparhawk you can be positively dense sometimes. Today is probably pretty close to Alean's due date."

"Oh, yeah," Sparhawk said. "I'd forgotten about that. It would be, wouldn't it."

"He's probably just worried about her. I'm sure he'll be alright."

Sparhawk had an idea. "Don't wait up for me. I don't know when I'll be back." He kissed her and then left the cabin.

Kalten was still in the galley leaning against the wall where Sparhawk had left him almost three hours before.

Sparhawk nudged him awake. The big blonde knight raised his eyebrows, but did not open his eyes. "Just leave it there, I'll get to it sometime."

"Kalten, why didn't you tell me what was bothering you?" Sparhawk said, pushing Kalten's feet off the bench and sitting. Kalten straightened, stretching his back. He shrugged.

"Didn't think you wanted to worry about it." He still looked downcast, although he didn't appear to have drunk any more.

"Of course I do. Here," Sparhawk opened a full bottle of Tolnedran black label wine, "as if you need more to drink." He filled Kalten's empty cup and found one of his own. "To your firstborn, whatever it is."

They had a few more drinks, then the party extended to the deck and soon Garion, Belgarath, and the other knights aboard their ship joined in. Sparhawk found himself in bed much later and less sober than he had been in years. He was happy, though, and a little jealous, wishing Kalten could drink to another birth in Sparhawk's family. Pushing that thought from his mind, he rolled over and fell asleep.

The next morning, they held a hurried conference between the two ships. Greldik and Barak spent several minutes shouting at each other, until Polgara and Belgarath stopped them, pointing out that they could communicate silently. Greldik looked slightly disappointed at not being able to shout, and muttered something about "unnatural" as he made his way back to the tiller.

"Polgara says she got a message from the twins this morning," Belgarath informed them after several moments. "There have been some odd storms in the Sea of the East south of Riva, so it might be a lot faster to cross Arendia and go back to Riva through Camaar."

"But that means going all the way through the Arendish forest," Garion pointed out. They had once again dragged out a map, and were hashing over it on the deck. A stiffly cold northern wind ruffled the corners, giving evidence to Belgarath's words. "I know that Mayaserana and Korodullin are trying to re-unify Arendia, but there still may be a few die-hard Asturians in there that could easily mistake anyone in armor for a Mimbrate."

"That thought had occurred to me, but I think that it's worth the risk. It's not as if we're helpless, and most Asturians still recognize Pol and me. I don't think they'd attack someone who was with us. It will be faster, and I'd take Asturians over those storms. If we cut west right here, then we can hit the River Arend."

"Why cut it that close. Why not go north to the," Vanion squinted at the map, "the Mallerin."

"It's too shallow. We'd have to disembark on the coast. We can go back up the River Arend the way we came, straight back to Vo Mimbre."

"That will make Mandorallen happy," Garion observed. "But what about Algroths?"

"It's not the season for them. They stay up in the mountains during late summer."

"What's an Algroth?" Kalten asked blearily. He was apparently feeling the effects of the day before and an entire morning of seasickness that was probably not entirely caused by the sea.

"You don't want to know," Garion told him, remembering Lelldorin's own struggle with one so long ago. "Kind of like a bear crossed with a wolf, crossed with a troll, crossed with a...vicious. They're vicious. That's the best way to describe them."

"There might be a few erratic ones, but without a pack they won't attack," Belgarath assured him. "Unless they're mad," he added.

Kalten's face had gone a little greener. "They can't be much worse than the Damork," Sparhawk told him.

"Grandfather," Garion said, "we should tell Aunt Pol what we've decided then."

"Why don't you do it, Garion. I need a drink." He threw an arm about Kalten's shoulders. "Why don't we go talk some more about those beasties out there?"

"He won't really torment Kalten too badly," Garion told Sparhawk. "It's unlikely that we'll meet anything out there, especially with this large a party." He put his hands on the rail and closed his eyes to send his thought out. As he did this, Sparhawk had a sudden flash of a strong love and of a female scent that was peculiar but familiar. He saw a dark haired woman and a snowy owl occupying the same space. Then he was rushing toward her. A flash of lighted seared his senses and he fell to his knees, momentarily blinded by the pain in his head. It stopped a moment later. He looked over to see that Garion had fallen similarly, one hand still holding the rail. Garion looked up at him, panting slightly. "What was that?"

Sparhawk shook his head, breathing heavily. A moment later, the snowy owl he had just seen drifted down to the deck between them.

"What happened?" Polgara said as they lifted themselves off the floor. She was looking directly at Sparhawk as if it were all his fault. Sparhawk suspected it was.

"I don't know, Aunt Pol. I was going to tell you what we had decided to do but as soon as my thought touched you..." Garion said putting a hand to his temple.

"I felt it too, though not as strong. I also felt Sir Sparhawk here. You have a very strange will."

"I didn't do anything," Sparhawk stammered. "I was just standing here." He felt seven again, answering to his father for something Kalten and he had done.

"I know. You don't have the power to do that. I guess something in Garion's will grabbed yours. What I don't know is why. Garion, try contacting your grandfather."

"He's down in the galley with Kalten," Sparhawk said.

"Just try to reach him."

Garion closed his eyes again. Once again Sparhawk felt himself being pulled down a dark corridor ending in a figure of a dark man and a wolf. There was profound respect and a deep deep love along with this image, and the scent of ale, parchment and old leather. The same pain sliced his eyes as he reached the figure. He covered his face in his hands. When it was over, he looked up, noting Garion also had his eyes covered. A few seconds later, Belgarath came stomping up on deck.

"What is going on?" Belgarath demanded.

"I don't know," Polgara told him. "It seems that Garion and Sparhawk's wills somehow are linked, but as soon as Sparhawk's will reaches any of us, the contact is broken. Just to be sure," she closed her eyes. "Good," she said a moment later. "It's just Garion. I can contact Durnik just fine. I've told him to turn inland."

Sephrenia and Danae came up on deck then. "What's wrong, dear one?" she asked of Sparhawk. Danae looked intently at him. Sparhawk told them what was happening. Sephrenia seemed unsurprised. "The reason, as it seems to me, is that Anakha is trying to fill the void he is creating, and grabbed onto Garion's will for that purpose."

"Why would he grab me? I'm not the Child of Light anymore. Why would Anakha want the Child of Light anyway?"

"I don't know, but Anakha has power that I can only guess at. Sparhawk himself doesn't know how much power he can give Anakha."

"Will you stop talking about me like I'm two different people?" Sparhawk asked, somewhat plaintively.

"For all intents and purposes, you are. I was afraid something like this would happen."

"What can we do about it?" Garion asked, somewhat unnerved by the intrusion.

"Maybe distance has something to do with it," Sparhawk said. He walked across the deck, climbed the stairs to the aft deck and stood behind Greldik, who gave him a curious look.

Garion focused his will and began to change his form into that of a wolf. He could feel the muzzle and tail beginning to form, then there was a painful flash, and he fell gasping to the deck once more, still a human. Sparhawk returned a moment later with Greldik on his heels.

"What in Belar's name are you doing?" the seaman looked frightened.

"Sorry," Sparhawk said. "I suppose I looked rather odd, didn't I."

"You don't mean that you transformed, too?" Belgarath demanded.

"I started to. I definitely had a tail for a second there."

"This is not good. This short of a distance doesn't seem to affect it." Sephrenia said. "We have to get home as soon as possible. If it's affecting Garion like this, it might start to affect others as well." She paused frowning. "I wonder if Styric magic has an effect."

"If I can do any this far away from Aphrael," he said, glancing at Danae. She shrugged slightly. Sparhawk held out his hand and muttered an incantation in Styric. Garion also held out his hand. The faint outline of a teacup filled Sparhawk's palm, flickered and disappeared. He tried it again. Suddenly a fully formed teacup formed in Garion's hand and shattered.

"Why a teacup?" Belgarath asked as Garion sucked a sliced finger.

"It was the first thing I thought of." Sparhawk turned to Danae. "What happened?" he asked her quietly.

"I couldn't give it to you. He just grabbed it," she pointed at Garion. "It was hard to give you the power anyway. There's not enough of me here. All I know is that the teacup and Garion couldn't exist at the same time."

"That'd make a pretty fair carnival trick," Garion said. "The amazing exploding teacup." He turned to Belgarath. "We should test the orb again, Grandfather. That might have changed." He dug it out of a pouch at his belt. Since the last time it had been near Sparhawk, he had kept it with him all the times, just in case. Now he held it out in front of him. It glowed faintly blue. There was no snarling, no red glow this time. Slowly he got closer to Sparhawk. The orb did not change.

"What does that mean?" Sparhawk said.

Belgarath frowned. "I don't think this should go any further, Garion," he warned. "We don't know what the orb will do now. It could kill Sparhawk, or you, if it gets too close."

"Put it away, dear," Polgara said. Garion did so, slipping it back into the pouch on his belt.

"Now what?" he asked, slightly worried. "I can't use my will now?"

"Do you think we should ask Aldur?" Sparhawk asked.

"Perhaps, but let's ask someone here first," Belgarath said. He closed his eyes for a moment. A few seconds later, a large seagull floated down on the deck. It shimmered into the Angarak disciple Pelath. Sparhawk had never really gotten to know the man, he seemed a little more mystical that the other sorcerers, and Sparhawk had never been comfortable around holy men, even though he was technically one himself.

Belgarath explained the situation to him. "What do you think? I wanted to ask Eriond, but you're the next best thing, I suppose. What would he say?"

"I think he would separate the two of them as much as possible. It seems that this is a result of prolonged exposure to whatever spiritually corrosive being that this Anakha is."

Sparhawk cringed at 'spiritually corrosive' but it seemed to fit the situation pretty well. "So Garion should travel on the other ship?"

"I don't think it will make much difference, since we're only a couple of days from land, but we might want to split up once we get there."


	27. Splitting hairs and feathers

Chapter 27

"I'll go on ahead to Riva by sea," Garion told them. They sat around a large table in Korrodullin's study. The Mimbrate king had almost had apoplexy at the large number of knights in full armor on his doorstep. Mandorallen's smile as he had introduced them all had threatened to make his face split in half. Now the king and queen watched their visitors with admiration and undisguised trust. Sparhawk once again shuddered at the seeming naiveté of these people. Garion went on. "The storms can be sailed around. I'm pretty sure we can handle them. In the meantime, Sparhawk can go overland and pick up as much information as possible about the Bear Cult. We'll split up so there will be 'powerful' people in each group, just in case."

"You make it sound like an afternoon outing," Talen commented. "Like it's a scavenger hunt at a country fair."

"It is a hunt, for information, and there's a prize for the winner," Silk told him.

"What's that?"

"The winner gets to stay alive."

"It's a good plan," Vanion approved. "Garion should get back home to Riva as soon as possible to protect his family and to get a secure footing on what is happening up there. This trip into Murgodom was hardly more than a waste of time."

"We did find out some information, though," Silk said. "Those pictures of Rokor are going to be pretty valuable when we go searching for his friends up here."

"Alright," Belgarath said, clearing his throat. "Sparhawk will take his wife and daughter, as well as Pol, Durnik, Khalad, Berit, Lelldorin, Hettar, Kalten, Silk and Talen. I'll go with Garion and Ce'Nedra, Liselle, Pelath, Barak, Tynian, Ulath, Stragen, Mandorallen, Bevier, Vanion and Sephrenia. We'll take Greldik's ship up the coast. Sparhawk will go north to Muros, then west to Camaar. By the time you get there, Greldik should have dropped us off. He can swing south and pick you up there and bring you to Riva."

Liselle opened her mouth. Garion was sure she was going to ask to go with her husband, but instead she said, "Sounds like a good plan."

"But if we put Sparhawk and Garion back together, this is all pointless," Barak pointed out.

"I'm hoping we can come up with a solution before that point."

Garion sighed. "Something wrong?" Ce'Nedra asked him.

"This whole thing seems so disconnected. We have random incidents that take us all over the place, and nothing really gets solved. There's not even a good war to fight, or a good villain to chase."

Barak laughed. "He's an Alorn alright, Belgarath."

"You should be happy there's no war to fight, Garion. At least not yet. The last thing we want is for a lot of people to get killed when they don't have to. If we can follow this thing around to get a solution, it will probably save a lot of lives."

"But it's kind of..."

"Boring?" Sparhawk put in.

"I wasn't going to say that. It's not boring, but it seems as if we're not doing anything but sitting around deciding where to go and what to do, rather than doing it."

"It'll pick up," Sparhawk said. "Pretty soon there will be bloodshed and then we'll have plenty of things to do. Well have a bad guy to kill and a city to burn down. That's usually how these things turn out."

"That's a bleak outlook," Silk replied.

"Usually true, though," Vanion told him.

Sparhawk was in his room polishing his armor later that evening when Khalad came in. He hurriedly shut the door and leaned against it. "Something wrong?" Sparhawk asked him.

Khalad blushed. "Nothing, Sparhawk. Just getting away from...out of the way I mean." He looked at Sparhawk's armor. "I should be doing that." He reached for the rag.

"You don't really have to. Since I had you knighted you're technically not my squire."

Khalad snorted. "I'll be your squire for as long as I want to be, Sparhawk. Title or no title. It's what my father wanted and just because I have a 'Sir' tacked on to my name doesn't change who I intend to be." He roughly scrubbed at a small dull spot on Sparhawk's breastplate.

Sparhawk gave up. He knew that being in the royal circle in Arendia was bothering Khalad. The gruff man wasn't comfortable with his knighthood as it was, and the courtiers and Arendish knights focused on nobility like a starving hound focuses on a piece of meat. Khalad's arrangement was comfortable and Sparhawk admitted that he did not want to lose his squire any more than Khalad wanted to lose his master. Sparhawk decided to not draw attention to Khalad's knighthood, in the hopes that the title hungry hounds of the Arendish court would leave him alone.

It wasn't as if they were starved for knights to dote on. In addition to the King and the number of self-deployed royal guardians, many men wore full armor in this country as casually as Sparhawk would put on a tunic everyday. With a rye smile he wondered if they would continue to wear armor every day if it were as heavy as Tynian's. He grunted as he set his helmet on the table next to his steel gauntlets. It served a purpose, though. From what Lelldorin had told them, not a week went by without someone challenging someone else to a duel in which one or both opponents went home maimed, at the very least. It was unlikely that any of the Knights of the Church, even with their foreign allure, could match the towering reputation of the Baron of Vo Mandor. Mandorallen was quite a knight, to be sure, completely selfless and fearless to a fault. But Sparhawk sensed a lack of guile that disturbed him. There was something missing in the Arendish psyche that Sparhawk felt was necessary to ultimate knighthood. Perhaps it was his association to the mysticism of Styrics, and the distrust with which he had spent most of his life, but, especially in this, until recently, war-torn country, Sparhawk felt that a knight had to keep a part of himself hidden, sheltered, as a last surprise against an enemy. These knights with their open faces and their hearts on their sleeves grated against him.

Khalad had finished polishing the breast and back plates, and was picking up a heavy shin guard when Silk opened the door. "Lady Polgara wants to leave relatively early in the morning," he informed them. He looked speculatively at Sparhawk. "She said you were going to be in charge on this trip, except for navigation, which means-"

"She is. Right," Sparhawk said with a smile. "Sephrenia's been that way for as long as I've known her. We're just around to fight things off and eat all the food." Silk grinned and left.

"That man always seems like he is up to something," Khalad observed as he buffed the heavy shin piece to gleaming brilliance. Although Sparhawk's armor was black, Khalad and his father both had prided themselves on the fact that Sparhawk could always see himself in it.

"I think that he _is_ always up to something. I worry about the effect he has on Talen."

"My brother can't get any more corrupt, Sparhawk," Khalad told him with a rye smile. "I worry about Silk." Sparhawk knew that Khalad actually was proud of the way that Talen had turned out as a knight, and that that was part of the reason that Khalad himself had all but openly refused his own knighthood. "So," Sparhawk's squire continued. "Do you think it will work?"

"Do I think what will work?"

"This separation. It will probably take us the better part of three weeks to reach the Isle of the Winds, and even in that time it would probably be difficult to solve all of the problems we seem to be having."

Although Khalad was not by nature a pessimist, he had always had a knack for pointing out the worst points in a situation. He called it being practical; Sparhawk had another name for it.

"I don't see as we have any choice, do you?"

"Oh I know we have no choice," Khalad said, looking directly at him. "I was just curious if you thought it would work."

Sparhawk couldn't answer. "Let's go see what these Arends have for wine, shall we?"

"You go ahead. I'm going to finish up here. I won't have you looking like a rusty barrel in front of the King and Queen."

Halfway down the back stairs to the kitchens Sparhawk ran into Kalten, almost literally. The big blonde man was walking up the stairs, staring at something in his hands. Sparhawk nimbly dodged. "What's that?" he asked as Kalten headed past him.

"What?" Kalten looked up. "Oh, sorry, Sparhawk. It's a letter."

"From whom?"

"Why don't you mind you own business?"

"I'm just curious. It might have been important."

"It's from me, alright?"

"You sent yourself a letter?"

"No. I haven't sent myself anything. I just said I wrote it."

"What's the holdup?" Talen was trying to come down the stairs behind Sparhawk.

"Nothing, just our glorious leader being snoopy."

"Why don't you come down and have a drink with me, Kalten?" Sparhawk said, ignoring that last statement. The blonde knight shrugged, folded the letter and stuffed it inside his shirt. As they started down, Sparhawk did something he hadn't done before. He turned. "Care to join us, Talen?"

Talen's eyes widened. True he had not quite yet won his spurs, but he was at an appropriate age, Sparhawk felt. "Sure," Talen said carefully. "Thanks."

Sparhawk felt that it was perhaps time to start thinking of Talen as, if not an equal, at least grown up. Especially if Danae was as serious as she was. Sparhawk still had some reservations in the back of his mind about all of that, but he knew that they would mean nothing to anyone now or later, so he shut them up as best he could and ignored them.

As Kalten headed down ahead of them, Talen drew Sparhawk back a little. "Uh, my Lord," he said in a hushed voice.

"You don't have to call me that, Talen. You never used to."

"That was before I was a knight. Look. I guess I'd better just say this. I need to talk to you about Danae." His face was earnest as he looked at Sparhawk.

"Anything in particular?"

"Yes. We don't have to talk about it now, of course, but I have some questions that I'm pretty sure you're one of very few people who can answer. I was going to ask Sephrenia, but I felt more comfortable approaching you. Besides, I don't think she would have told me the truth."

Sparhawk was immediately on his guard. "Perhaps we should talk about them now." He raised his voice. "I forgot something in my rooms, Kalten. I'll be down in a few minutes." He turned back to Talen. "In here." He opened a door to a small empty chamber.

"Well, Sparhawk," Talen started nervously. "I've racked my brain, and even asked some physicians about this. I even looked up your family history in the Pandion records."

"Why?"

"Because I needed to know why Danae doesn't look like an Elene. I thought maybe you had a Styric ancestor somewhere or something."

Sparhawk gulped. He now thought he knew where this was going, and wasn't sure how to avoid it.

"I looked up that poison and I know it made the Queen barren. I thought for a while that maybe you and Sephrenia, but that obviously was pretty stupid," he gave Sparhawk an apologetic glance. "I thought and thought, and I finally put two and two together, and I think I've made four. I need someone to check my figures for me, though. I know you don't have to tell me, but I need to ask anyway." He paused. "Is Danae who I think she is? Is she Aphrael?"

Talen's directness made prevarication out of the question. It was pretty clear that he already knew the answer. "Yes," Sparhawk said. Anything else would have insulted the young knight's intelligence.

Talen merely nodded. "I figured it was something like that."

"You're ok with this?" Sparhawk demanded. "It took me at least a week to get used to the idea and I'm her father!"

"I don't really have much choice, do I? If she is a goddess, then I have even less chance of escaping her plans of matrimony." Talen smiled impishly, and Sparhawk saw once again the thief boy that he had met so many long years before. It that moment, Sparhawk was convinced that both Talen and his daughter had met their match. He suddenly felt a whole lot better about the situation.

There was still one issue, however. "Just, uh, keep it to yourself, okay?"

"I know, Sparhawk. One thing I learned from my parents was how to keep a secret. Although how Aslade found out I still don't know." He gave Sparhawk another crooked smile. "We'd better get down there before Kalten drinks the kitchens dry."

"I don't think even he can do that. These Arends drink almost as much as the Alorns do."

Talen shrugged. "He's got quite a reputation among the novices. Just hope no one ever tries to out drink him."


End file.
